We'll Always Have Paris
by x-kate17-x
Summary: Kate and Tony go undercover in France. Tate, Jibbs and also the occasional hint of McAbby. Chapter 21 now up.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, nothing actually happens in this chapter, it's just Gibbs in his basement all alone (aww), but I'm working on the next bit and that's where the story actually starts. Promise.

* * *

Tony was like Gibbs. Gibbs saw it, Ducky saw it… If you re-wound Gibbs twenty odd years and then planted him in the twenty-first-century, Tony would be what you'd get.

It wasn't that they looked alike or shared the same interests, but there was something in Tony's personality and his way of looking at the world that reminded Gibbs of himself.

And that, that exact fact, was why Gibbs was up at four in the morning sanding an already-smooth bit of wood on his boat.

Director Morrow was sending Kate and Tony to work undercover to catch a terrorist. Any other team leader would be proud to have his two protégées personally selected by the director to do what was clearly a very important mission. And he was proud. And he knew that they'd do a good job. He knew he'd still be in contact with them, and he'd still be the one they answered too, and he'd get them back at the end and everything would carry on as normal. It wasn't like they were going to be leaving _forever_ – nobody was taking them away from him. It was a long time – three months – but it wasn't _that_ long. Not really. It wasn't even the danger aspect of it that bothered Gibbs – true, it was a dangerous mission, but it was no more dangerous than what they did every day with him. In all honesty, they'd have so many people watching their backs that they would probably be safer working with Al Quaeda than they would be working with him.

That was the theory, anyway.

The problem Gibbs had with the whole thing was that of all the places in the world to go undercover, the director had to send Kate and Tony to Paris. And Gibbs couldn't help remember what happened when he and his partner were working in Paris, back when he was still like Tony. And if Tony was so much like Gibbs, what kind of a fallout was he going to have on his hands when they got back?

They wouldn't stay in Paris forever. Tony wouldn't be able to turn on the novelty fake-French accent or bring Kate fresh croissants and hot coffee in bed, or whisper nonsense in her ear that she wouldn't understand but would think was romantic because it was in 'the language of love'. They wouldn't be just the two of them, in a foreign country and far away from what they knew. They'd come back to the real world and their real lives, they'd split up in a bitter, drawn-out break-up that would make everybody miserable, and Kate would cry and Tony would feel guilty, and Abby and McGee would be forced into picking sides and the whole team dynamic would be shot to hell.

Of course, there was no guarantee that anything would actually happen between them.

But, Gibbs couldn't help but think, something just might.

And it wasn't as if he could have explained that to the director, was it?

'Oh, sorry Director, but I'm not going to lend you my agents to go Europe to help you shut down a terrorist cell because I'm afraid they'll screw each other while they're over there and I'll have to pick up the pieces when they come back.'

'Why do you think that, Gibbs?'

'Because when _I_ went to Paris, that's how I passed the time with my partner. And what with DiNozzo being such a chip of the old block, you know, I don't want to take the risk.'

That would go down well.

Mind you, Kate was so pissed at the thought of having to live with Tony for three months, she'd probably slit his throat by the end of the first week.

Although, that wasn't the most desirable outcome Gibbs could think of either. There was just no way this assignment was going to end happily.

Either Kate and Tony were going to have a horrible time living together in such a high-stress situation, they'd fight constantly and wouldn't be able to have a break from one another for months on end, they'd come home sick of the sight of one another and then one or both of them would quit or ask to change teams.

Or, they'd get lonely being stuck halfway around the world with only each other and a bunch of strangers, they'd get scared because they had to deal with terrorists and _not_ shoot them the minute they walked through the door, and then they'd get drunk because everyone knows alcohol helps everything. And then Tony would hit on Kate, and she'd be too out of it to care, and it would start with a few drunken kisses and it would finish up with them thinking they were in love.

Gibbs remembered when he was a little boy, play-fighting with his friends and pretending to be pirates or knights, waving long wooden swords around and bashing each other over the head with them. Some adult always used to come along and shake their heads and say 'it'll all end in tears'. He and his friends never believed them, they thought they were just being boring old grown ups, but they were usually right. Gibbs felt like that now – like Kate and Tony and the director were all hitting one another with sticks of wood and Gibbs knew someone was going to get hurt because he'd seen it happen before, but they wouldn't listen.

He didn't invent rule twelve because he enjoyed torturing people, despite what his team thought. And he didn't do it simply because it made things difficult for him, if he was having to deal with break-ups and make-ups and people trying to sneak off somewhere to make out instead of doing their jobs. That was part of it, he had to admit. For the good of the team – and his sanity – it was better if everyone's relationships remained platonic. But he also did it because he didn't like it when Kate turned up in the morning with her eyes all red from crying over whatever some guy did to her, and he didn't like it when Tony was all quiet because he'd done something immensely stupid to a girl he actually wanted to be with. He didn't like to see them hurt, and he knew for a fact that when it's your partner, it hurts more.

This whole thing was a total disaster.

Gibbs took a deep breath and put down his tools. If he wasn't careful, he was going to sand the whole rib of the boat away into a pile of dust. His coffee was cold, but he drunk it anyway. As he swallowed it down, he wondered if Kate would like the taste of croissants dipped in coffee for breakfast, and if she'd be able to stomach watching Tony smother his with peanut butter first. Scowling, he slammed his empty mug down on the table and ran his hands through his hair. As if it wasn't bad enough already – now this damn Paris thing was ruining coffee for him.

Gibbs perched on the edge of his stool and eyed his boat doubtfully. Maybe he'd leave it, for tonight. It would do him good to sleep in a bed for once, instead of falling asleep under the boat. It was far too late to do anything about it now – Kate and Tony had already left. They were probably nearly there by now. The opportunity to do something had been two weeks ago, when the director asked if they'd go. He could have said he they were too busy, he could have said he didn't want them to go, he could have just said no. He needn't have mentioned it to Kate or Tony, needn't have offered them the chance, and then they'd be at home asleep right now instead of on a private jet on the way to Europe.

Gibbs reached for his tools again and set back to work on the boat. He obviously wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, bed or not bed, and if he was going to sit up thinking then he may as well do something constructive with his time. As soon as the sun came up, he'd go to NCIS and find out if Kate and Tony had landed yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for the really great reviews guys, I love you all! Here goes with the second chapter. And I forgot to put a disclaimer in last time so I'll do it now - I do not own NCIS or anything to do with it.

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Kate blinked as she looked around the bright whiteness of the airport. It had been dark on the plane – it was an overnight flight – but she hadn't been able to sleep. She never could, on planes. It was an annoyingly persistent tendency left over from her days on Air Force One – sleeping on the job wasn't exactly approved of in the Secret Service, and she couldn't break the habit. The glaringly bright daylight streaming in through the arrivals terminal was hurting her eyes, already sore from lack of sleep and dry from the flight, and she rubbed them to try and soothe them a little.

"Tired?" Tony asked, hoisting his rucksack higher on his back and taking her suitcase from her.

"Not so much," Kate said, frowning as he tugged her bag along behind him as well as his own. "My eyes are just sore, and the light isn't exactly helping. Why are you carrying my bag for me?"

"Put your sunglasses on then. Because I slept and you didn't, and you're a girl, and I'm not about to make you carry your own suitcase anyway."

"Sunglasses? Inside an airport? And I can carry my own case, you know."

"Kate, this is Paris. You can wear sunglasses in an art gallery in winter and nobody's going to notice. And I know you _can_, but I'm being a gentleman."

Kate glanced around her, looking at all the unfamiliar signs and the security guards in uniforms she wasn't used to. Tony was right about the sunglasses, she realized. More than half the women – and the men – were walking around with big black shades perched on the ends of their noses. Reaching into her handbag and finding her sunglasses, she managed to take in her surroundings without squinting. She realized now why they'd been told to only take one case each. Apparently looking glamorous and sexy was a full-time requirement, when you were a lady of leisure in Paris. Which, she supposed, she was now. Obviously, she was 'working' undercover, but seeing as her role was to act like a kept woman for Tony, complete with fancy apartment and several credit cards courtesy of the NCIS keeping-up-appearances department, she guessed she was going to be expected to dress the part. None of her clothes would make the cut, she was pretty sure. She had the distinct feeling that her single suitcase was going to remain unpacked and possibly even unopened for the duration of this operation.

Tony would have to do all the real legwork – charming businessmen and convincing the right people of the wrong things, in order to hopefully get hold of a bit of evidence that would allow NCIS and the FBI and whoever else to make some arrests without having the whole thing thrown out of court within an hour. It had been made pretty clear that the types of people they'd be mixing with would expect Kate to essentially sit at the dinner table looking pretty, and let Tony talk and charm his way into the good-books of a bunch of terrorists. Kate wasn't entirely happy with that, but there wasn't a lot she could do about it without ruining their cover and jeopardizing the whole mission. Not to mention their lives. She wasn't willing to do that for the sake of a little bit of action, and she knew it was only her 'anything you can do I can do better' mentality, born of a childhood with three older brothers, that was making her want to do more than sit around pretending to be rich for a few weeks.

Kate stepped outside into the warm sunshine, blinking a little even behind her shades, and made a mental note to take one of the credit cards she'd been given on the plane and spend a ridiculous amount of money on a pair of designer sunglasses, just because she could.

"Do we get a taxi, or what?" Kate asked Tony, glancing over to a long line of tourists and couples snaking around the edge of the terminal.

"We've got a car," Tony said. "Didn't you read the file?"

"How could I?" Kate muttered, annoyed. "You hogged it halfway across the Atlantic and then fell asleep on it!"

They made their way through the throngs of people to a shiny black Rolls Royce, and Kate raised her eyebrows. A man who looked so much like Gibbs that Kate actually did a double take appeared, taking the bags from Tony and putting them by the side of the car.

"Hi," Kate smiled, and Tony nudged her.

The man smiled awkwardly in response, and Kate opened her mouth to say something else but Tony squeezed his nails into her arm and shook his head subtly.

Kate blinked at the man as he opened the door for her, peering at him under his hat just to make sure that he wasn't really Gibbs, and stepped into the car. Tony followed her, clipping his seatbelt on, and the door shut. Kate watched him load the bags into the boot and frowned at Tony.

"What?" she snapped, rubbing the tiny ring of red fingernail imprints on her arm.

"You aren't supposed to talk to him," Tony replied. "He's the driver."

"So?"

"So… you're supposed to ignore him, and make like he doesn't exist. If you have to talk to him, be rude."

"No!"

"Kate, you have too! Nobody rich talks to their servants, okay? You'll look suspicious if you start having conversations with the hired help."

"I feel bad," she sighed.

"It's his job," Tony pointed out. "He expects to be ignored – he's used to it, he doesn't mind."

"You don't feel kind of guilty? Just sitting around while he drags our bags about for us and drives us places, and treating him like crap?"

"No I don't. Kate, we're supposed to be multi-zillionaires. You don't make that much money by being nice to people. You do your job, let him do his."

Kate scowled, leaning back into her seat and folding her arms across her chest. She watched as the driver climbed into the driver's seat and pulled away, not speaking a word, and she glared at Tony. She knew he was right – she couldn't risk their cover over something as trivial as manners, and she supposed she'd get used to it eventually, but being rude to this guy didn't make her feel good. She glowered at Tony for a few more minutes, just to let him know she might be accepting this situation but she certainly wasn't happy about it. She fully intended to sulk all the way to their apartment, but Tony grinned at her and blew her a kiss, and she found herself laughing despite herself. She wound the window down a little way, feeling the cool air on her face, and watched the scenery go by. She'd never been to France before – even in the Secret Service, which had taken her pretty much all over the world, she'd always been either off duty or sick when the president had flown to France.

"How's your French?" Tony asked, watching her as she read the road signs they passed.

"Not as good as my Spanish," Kate replied, turning away from the window to look at Tony.

"And how's your Spanish?"

"I took German," Kate admitted with a smile, and Tony raised his eyebrows.

"In that case," he grinned, "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?"

"I know what _that_ means," Kate retorted. "Pig."

"That's a no?" Tony pressed.

"It's so far beyond no, DiNozzo, that there aren't even words for it."

"Worth a try," Tony shrugged

"You should come with a great big x-rating stamped on your head, DiNozzo, you really should," she sighed. "I pity all these poor businessmen and their wives you're going to be wining and dining – those poor women don't know what they're getting themselves into."

"Pity?" Tony grinned. "Or envy?"

"Pity."

Kate wound the window right down, grateful for the fresh air after the hours on the plane, and leant her head against the window frame. It was a hot day – she could feel the warmth of the metal of the car as she rested her arm on the side of the door – and the branches of the trees they sped past were hanging limp and still in the muggy air. The speed of the car created a breeze, though, and it whipped Kate's fringe around her face and cooled her down. She looked at her watch, frowning as the little silver hands told her it was still far too early for this much sun, and twisted the little dial around until it showed her Paris-Time.

She tried to imagine what all her friends and family and colleagues would be doing right now, back home. It wasn't that hard to imagine – most likely they'd all be asleep. With the possible exception of Gibbs, who was most likely working on his boat, and probably her sister, who just had a baby a couple of months ago, it was highly unlikely that anybody was going to be up and doing much at five in the morning.

Kate stared at the cars that sped by. She could feel her eyelids getting heavy as the car trundled along smoothly. Her watch might be telling her it was gone lunchtime, but her body was still stuck firmly in Washington, and the fact that technically it was five am and she'd been awake for almost twenty-four hours seemed to be catching up with her. Going to sleep was a bad idea, she knew that – they wouldn't be in the car for long, and she'd be even more tired for having her sleep interrupted – but there was nothing wrong with closing her eyes and resting for a little while. She took her sunglasses off and shut her eyes, nestling her head into her folded arms and sighing as the sun shone onto her face.

When she opened her eyes again, she was no longer in the car. Her face was pressed against a cool, cream, leather sofa, and a cashmere blanket was tucked over her shoulders. She turned over, disorientated, and stretched out. Her feet came into contact with something warm and soft, and she sat up sleepily.

"Hey, Sleepyhead," Tony smiled, aiming the remote control at whatever he was watching on the giant plasma TV and turning the sound off.

"Hey," Kate replied, rubbing her eyes and scraping her hair up into a ponytail. "What time is it?"

"Nearly four," Tony said. "You sleep like a log."

"Did you carry me in here?"

"Not so much carried as dragged," Tony chuckled. "You were sort of half-awake, I had to hold you up."

"Sorry," Kate cringed.

"Don't worry about it," Tony assured her. "I've done my fair share of fumbling for keys while holding unconscious women, I've got it down to a fine art."

Kate rolled her eye and got to her feet. She stretched her arms above her head, arching her back, and winced.

"My back is killing me," she muttered, twisting awkwardly to try and massage between her own shoulder-blades. "As nice as private jets and posh sofas are, I think I'm going to stick to sleeping in a bed from now on. What's the apartment like?"

"Nice," Tony nodded. "Expensive. That's the kitchen," he said, gesturing towards a door to his right. "Bathroom's there. Bedrooms are over there."

Kate glanced at the doors, still trying to rub her neck.

"Bedrooms?"

"There's two, don't worry," Tony said. "But if you get lonely…"

"Don't count on it, DiNozzo."

"Closets are full of clothes," Tony added. "Kitchen's full of food."

"Good," Kate said, heading off towards the kitchen. She made her way around each of the rooms, doing a brief scan of the kitchen and checking a few of the cupboards but not lingering for long enough to do a thorough investigation. The bathroom alone was almost the size of Kate's whole apartment back in DC, and it struck her that someone was paying for this. It couldn't be NCIS, surely? They barely had enough money for a Christmas party each year, and even the sketch artist supplied his own equipment to save money. She knew they were working with other agencies, including the CIA and the FBI, but something told her that they weren't going to pay to put a couple of NCIS agents up on a fancy apartment. Especially when their own agents were staying in hostels and trailer-parks so they could stay inconspicuous. Perhaps if they were on slightly better terms, but NCIS – and a particular NCIS agent in particular, who just so happened to be their boss – were not known for being bestest buds with the other agencies.

"Who's paying for this?" Kate asked Tony, returning from her inspection of her closet with a confused frown. "I mean, it can't be NCIS. Not unless they've got some underground goldmine that nobody's told me about. I know it's not us – my bank account wouldn't cover the coat closet in this place. And I have a hard time imagining the CIA playing nice enough to practically donate millions of bucks to us."

"Hmm," Tony said, wrinkling his nose. "To be honest, Kate… we're working for spooks and terrorists right now. We're stuck here, like it or not, we already made the choice. I, for one, would rather not think about who exactly is paying for all this."

"Or who they had to kill to get it," Kate sighed. "Great. We're living on blood money."

"Not necessarily," Tony said. "But that's why I said I'd rather not think about it. It's not like we can change our minds now."

Kate nodded and flopped onto the sofa. She knew Tony was right – worrying about things she couldn't change was going to do more harm than good. And part of her still believed – or at least wanted to believe – that a government agency wouldn't allow terrorists' money to fund their operations. No matter how important. And they certainly wouldn't do it willingly, or lightly. Besides, if it was terrorist money, at least it was going to good use and not being used to fund another 9/11. She wondered what Al Quaeda would say if they found out their money was paying for federal agents to shut down their cells. Somehow, Kate was pretty sure they wouldn't appreciate the irony.

Kate titled her head back to try and ease her sore neck, and reached over her shoulders to massage herself again.

"Stiff?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," Kate sighed.

"C'mere," Tony said, gesturing at the floor in front of him. Kate raised a skeptical eyebrow and shook her head. "I do good massages, come on," Tony pressed, and Kate thought about it for a second before her neck twinged painfully and she moved onto the floor with a sigh.

She curled up comfortably between Tony's knees, watching the TV while Tony tucked her hair neatly out of the way and started rubbing her shoulders. She felt herself relaxing as he kneaded her aching muscles, and let her head loll against his knee while he worked on her neck. She gasped as he pressed on a sore spot, and he immediately moved his hands.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

"No," Kate replied.

"Sounded like I did."

"Kind of, but it was a nice hurt. It felt good."

Tony sighed, but went back to the massage. It didn't take long for all the tension and knots in Kate's muscles to be completely worked away at Tony's hands, and when he was done, Kate got back up off the floor.

"Who taught you to massage?" she asked, lying limp and relaxed across the sofa.

"Abby."

Kate checked her watch and sat up. She wasn't tired after her nap earlier, a little sleepy maybe, but not enough to make her want to do nothing. She wasn't sure how much chance they were actually going to get to hang out in Paris, and she wanted to go home with some memories of the city that didn't involve terrorists or spooks or danger.

"Tony?"

"Kate?"

"You've been to Paris before, right?"

"Indeed I have."

"So you know what's fun to do here?"

"I believe the brothels are world class."

Kate pulled the cushion out from under her head and hit Tony in the face with it. He ducked, holding his hands up to protect himself, and squeaked loudly.

"That's just what I've heard!" he protested, and Kate raised the cushion again. "Okay! I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I said! Stop hitting me!"

Kate narrowed her eyes at him, and he smiled innocently. Kate put the cushion back behind her head and smiled.

"Go on then," she said.

Tony looked excited.

"Let's go to a brothel?" he asked.

"DiNozzo!" Kate exclaimed, kicking at him. "I meant 'Go on, think of something else to do'."

"We could go to a club. They have good clubs here. Or a bar."

Kate wrinkled her nose.

"I could get drunk at home," she sighed. "Come on, Tony, think of something fun! Something we can only do in Paris." Tony opened his mouth to speak, and Kate held up a hand. "Something that won't get us _fired_," she added. "I'd like to have a job to go home to, if it's all the same to you."

"Damn!" Tony sighed theatrically, slapping his thigh. "There goes my plan."

"You aren't funny, DiNozzo," Kate said, even though she was having trouble keeping the sides of her mouth from twitching up into a smile.

"Get changed then, I'll take you to dinner at the Eiffel Tower. Hurry up."

Kate thought it was a little early for dinner, but she was hungry, and she wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, so she jumped up and went into the bathroom to shower. She hadn't intended to be a long time in the bathroom, but the shower was so good that by the time she came out over forty-five minutes had passed and her skin was all pink from the hot water.

"What were you doing in there?" Tony asked, as she disappeared into her bedroom in a towel.

"Showering!" Kate called back, examining the contents of her closet.

"With what, a watering can? You were nearly an hour!"

"I'm out now, aren't I?"

Tony got up and went into the bathroom, muttering to himself.

"If you used all the hot water, I'm going to make you eat snails for dinner!" Tony called, closing the bathroom door and stepping into the shower himself.

---

Kate stepped out of the bedroom, a pair of heels in her hand, and Tony looked up from the sofa.

"You do realize that in the time it took you to put on a dress and put glitter on your eyes, I had a shower, shaved, did my hair, got dressed and booked us a table, don't you?" Tony said.

Kate made a face at him, slipping the shoes on and switching the TV off. They made their way out of the apartment and down the hall to the elevator, where Tony pressed the call button and leant against the wall.

"It …" Tony began, gazing at Kate, then shook his head. "Don't worry."

"You think what?"

"It doesn't matter."

Kate scowled at him.

"Come on, DiNozzo, you can't just say something and not finish! What is it? I won't get offended, I promise."

The elevator dinged and the sliver doors slid open. Taking it as an opportunity to change the subject, Tony stood back and waved Kate into the elevator with a bow and a grand gesture.

"Mademoiselle," he said.

Kate smiled, deciding to pester him about what he said later on, and stepped into the elevator. They reached the lobby and Kate noticed the car was ready for them outside the doors. Her heels clicked on the marble floors, and Tony nodded in thanks as one of the doormen held the glass doors open for them.

"Where's…" Kate trailed off as she got into the car beside Tony, realizing she didn't actually know the name of their driver.

"He's not going to drive us all the time," Tony said, starting the car and pulling away from the apartment block. "Only when we're doing something official, or we need him too."

Kate nodded, leaning back in the seat and fiddling with the radio. All the stations were in French, which made her feel ignorant, so she switched it off and sat quietly. It was a short drive, it only took about ten minutes, and when Tony parked up outside a restaurant Kate was surprised.

"We're here?" she asked.

"Yep."

"I don't see the Eiffel Tower…"

"You aren't looking in the right direction," Tony said, as Kate turned around slowly. "The restaurant's in the way – look up, not around."

Kate titled her head back, looking up into the clouds instead of around her. She wasn't sure how she'd missed it.

"It's huge!" she gasped.

"Duh," Tony said, leading her into the restaurant. "What did you expect?"

Kate shrugged.

"Not that," she said. "But now I've seen it… I can't remember how I thought it would be. Does that make sense?"

Tony nodded, following a waiter in a white shirt to a table by the window.

"It's beautiful," Kate said, craning her neck to look up out of the window.

"Do you mind?" Tony berated, teasingly. "I just massaged that neck, you're undoing all my hard work. Look at eye-level, why can't you?"

Kate giggled, and stopped trying to see the top. She settled for looking at what she could see in her natural line of sight, which, she had to admit, wasn't exactly a hardship.

"It's beautiful," she sighed, staring out of the window.

"Yeah, but check out the menu first," Tony said. "Then you can stare to your heart's content."

Kate picked up the menu, frowning as she tried to decipher the foreign words. She wished she could speak French fluently, like Tony seemed to be able too, or even just a little. She knew the very basics – how to say please and thank you, and hello and goodbye, but there was no way she would be able to understand this menu. As if it wasn't hard enough, the writing was all swirly and she doubted she'd be able to read it easily even if it was in English.

"Tony," she said quietly, embarrassed to have to ask him to help. "I don't understand this menu."

"Do you know what you want?"

Kate shook her head.

"Can you just order for me?" she asked.

"Sure. I'll get my own back for all those time you've elbowed me. Frog's legs sound good to you?"

Kate grinned, kicking him under the table. She was glad he wasn't being all superior and snobby about it.

"I'll kill you," she laughed. "I will actually kill you."

"Fine, I'll be good."

Surprisingly, Tony actually ordered her food that she liked. Even more surprisingly, he didn't make immature jokes or rude comments about the other people in the restaurant. He was remarkably well-behaved, Kate noted, and wondered if this was how he was when he was on a date with Becky or Joanna or whoever. It was nice. He was actually behaving like a sophisticated, polite adult. He was charming and funny and his manners – which Kate had expected to be awful, from what she'd seen of him at NCIS – were impeccable. He was disturbingly like her last boyfriend, actually, but that was just too frightening to think about. Pushing that thought firmly from her mind, Kate sipped her wine and listened to Tony telling her about the last time he was in Paris.

A waiter appeared to clear away their plates, and Kate realized it had got dark outside. The Eiffel Tower was all lit up and glowing now, and Kate wondered what time it was. It must be late, for it to have got so dark, but she wasn't wearing a watch and she didn't care enough to check Tony's.

"Do you want dessert?" Tony asked, as his story came to an end, and Kate shook her head.

"No, thanks," she said.

"Sure?"

"Hmm. I think I just ingested enough calories to keep me going for several weeks."

Tony rolled his eyes, and ordered something Kate didn't understand.

"Gibbs rung earlier," he said. "While you were asleep."

"Checking up on us?"

"I don't know. Kate… is it just me, or do you think Gibbs is being a bit weird about this whole thing?"

"Weird?"

"Yeah."

"Tony, the man's building a boat. In his basement. I don't think he's even thought about what he's going to do with it when it's done. He functions on… well, he brought me some of that stuff he drinks once, and I don't think it's even coffee. I think it's just liquefied caffeine. He's got some sort of obsession with redheads, and he doesn't leave the office until the middle of the night. 'Weird' for him is coming into work late, with a blonde on one arm and a cup of tea in the other, singing show tunes and wishing strangers a good day. Short of that, I don't think we need to worry about him."

"I don't know… he's acting kind of funny. He didn't seem too keen on us coming here, and when he rung up, he was all 'how are you' and 'what have you been doing'. It's weird, Kate."

"Maybe he's just worried about us."

Tony snorted, and the waiter placed his dessert in front of him.

"It's not that hard to believe," Kate insisted. "He's kind of grumpy, but he is human. He does care."

"I know he does, but I can't imagine him phoning us up just to make sure we're alright. Maybe if we were involved in a shoot-out, I could understand it. But we only arrived today. And it would have been about six am in the States."

"So? When my sister comes to visit, or my friends from college, I always ring them to make sure they got home okay. My friend Maya lives in Africa now, and I ring her when her plane lands, even if it's two in the morning at home."

"Yeah, well, you worry about everyone and everything. It's not normal."

Kate made a face at him.

"Seriously, you and Gibbs aren't the same. You wouldn't be able to sleep until you knew your friend was home safe. Gibbs would settle for not hearing about a plane crash on the news. It's weird, Kate, it's… it's just weird. He wasn't like this with Paraguay."

Kate shrugged, and watched Tony eat.

"Tony?" she smiled sweetly.

"Yes?"

"You know how much you love me?"

Tony shrugged.

"You're okay," he said, and Kate stamped her stiletto down hard onto his foot. "Yes," he gasped, wincing.

"Well… can I taste some of that?"

Tony handed her a spoon, moving his chair as far away as possible without looking strange, so it would be harder for Kate to kick him. Kate licked the spoon clean, and helped herself to some more.

"What happened to calories?" Tony muttered, but he moved the plate to the middle of the table for her even as he complained.

"They aren't my calories," Kate shrugged. "They don't count."

Tony laughed, spooning a heap of chocolate cake into his mouth and moving his chair closer again.

"You do realize," Kate said, swallowing, "that we've been practically alone together for over twenty-four hours, and we haven't even tried to hurt each other yet?"

"I'm getting good at not being annoying, huh?" Tony grinned.

"No, I'm getting good at not getting annoyed. You're just as irritating as you've always been."

"So what you're saying is, you've developed a sense of humour and learnt not to over-react?"

"Don't ruin it, DiNozzo," Kate laughed. "You're actually being nice tonight. If you could be like this all the time, I'd…" she trailed off.

"You'd what?"

"Nothing," Kate muttered.

"Oooh!" Tony crowed. "You would _love_ me! You love me, you want to kiss me, you want to -"

"You know what I said about not ruining it?" Kate interrupted.

"Yeah?"

Kate shrugged, and Tony sighed.

"I just did, didn't I?"

"Yep. I warned you."

"But… before?"

"I guess we'll never know," Kate said, with an overly dramatic sigh.

Tony peered at her for a minute, looking shell-shocked, then distraught, then suspicious.

"You were doing that on purpose!" he said, accusingly.

Kate laughed, knocking some cake off Tony's spoon and eating it herself. She was glad she was with Tony, she realized. She'd much rather be here with him than anyone else she could imagine NCIS putting her with, especially some FBI agent she didn't know. If she had to deal with bad guys, at least Tony would have her back. And besides – he was fun. Sometimes. When he wasn't being obnoxious and immature.

Tony paid the bill, and Kate watched him hand his credit card over. She could pay for herself, it wasn't fair to make Tony pay for both of them to eat, especially when she was the one who made him come out.

"Don't even try," Tony said, the minute her mouth opened. "Firstly, it's not even our money, so if I did let you pay for yourself it wouldn't make a difference. Secondly, no matter how mean or cruel or twisted you are, you're still a girl and I do not let girls pay for themselves. So shush."

Kate considered making a fuss anyway, but decided she was too tired and he was right anyway – it wasn't his money, or hers, so it didn't matter who paid.

She was glad they had brought the car with them now. Earlier she'd thought it was a little pointless, they may as well have walked here, but now she was glad she didn't have to walk home. The car journey home took longer, there were a lot more cars around, and Kate supposed that everyone was going out now.

"Do you want a glass of wine?" Tony asked, as they went into their apartment.

"Yes please," Kate yawned.

"Sure? You look pretty exhausted."

"I'm not tired," Kate said, shaking her head. "Honest." She was tired, but she was enjoying herself too much to go to bed right now. She sat on the sofa, her legs tucked underneath her, and rested her head on the back of the seat. She really did feel sleepy – probably due to the jetlag and the wine she'd had at dinner. She could hear Tony moving around in the kitchen, and wondered how much overtime she'd have to do to get Gibbs to give her a big enough pay rise for her to be able to live like this in real life. A lot, she thought, sleepily. Probably more overtime than NCIS had enough cases for.

Tony came out of the kitchen and put the glass of wine on the table, sipping his bottle of beer, and glanced at Kate.

"Wine's on the table," he said, sitting next to her. "Kate. Kate?" he nudged her gently, and her head lolled onto his shoulder. Tony pushed her fringe away from her face, and smiled as he saw she was fast asleep. "Thought you weren't tired?" he asked, stroking her hair affectionately. "Kate, wake up, you gotta go to bed."

Kate murmured something incoherent, but didn't open her eyes.

"Kate, you said you didn't want to sleep on any more sofas. Wake up."

Kate didn't move, just lay still, her breathing deep and calm. Tony looked at her for a minute then sighed, switching the TV on and swallowing some beer. The noise of the TV didn't wake Kate, who just lay there while Tony watched the news in French. When it was over, Tony put his empty beer bottle on the table beside Kate's untouched wine glass and shook her shoulder gently. He didn't get so much as a twitch in response, so he got up and carefully lifted Kate into his arms. She burrowed her head into his chest, but other than that, she didn't stir. She was light – lighter than Tony thought a grown woman could be – but maneuvering her into the bedroom without cracking her skull on the doorframe was a difficult task.

He made it, only knocking her legs into the door once, and not hard enough to wake her up or even make her flinch, and he lay her down on the bed. He debated whether or not to take the dress off her – it was worth a fortune, he was sure, and it obviously wasn't designed to be slept in – but the consequences of having Kate wake up the next morning in her underwear outweighed the consequences of ruining a dress. Clothes could be replaced, after all. Parts of his anatomy couldn't. Tony carefully unhooked the necklace from around Kate's neck and put it on the dressing table, and slid the bracelet off her wrist. He grimaced as he eased the earrings out of Kate's ears, knowing full well that if Kate woke up and moved her head suddenly, her earlobe would be torn to bits, but she didn't move and it was with more than a little relief that he dropped them onto the dresser with the rest of the jewellery.

Content that he'd removed everything he could without being accused of harassment the next morning, Tony pulled the duvet out from underneath Kate and draped it over. He closed the curtains and returned to Kate's bedside, stroking her fringe out of her face softly. He vaguely remembered reading a girly magazine once, to see what the hell it was about. He'd found it incredibly boring and tedious, and nowhere near as juicy as he'd expected. He'd forgotten most of it almost immediately, and all he could remember was that the Number One Rule was that you must never, ever, _ever_, go to sleep in your make-up, unless you are either the goddess of amazing skin or supremely ugly. He contemplated whether or not to fish around in Kate's bag and find some make-up remover, but she'd probably wake up if he started rubbing her face, and besides, he'd learnt his lesson about going through her belongings. Even on the odd occasion she'd asked him to pass her something from her bag – her PDA or a phone number she'd scribbled down – he still got nervous when he picked it up, like she was going to shoot him any second. He was sure sleeping in her makeup for one night wouldn't do her any harm, and if it did, he'd pay for however many facials it would take to fix it.

She looked sweet when she was asleep. Innocent, and young, and soft. He knew he should go and clear up the living room and go to bed himself, but he couldn't help but watch her. Her hair was silky under his fingers, and her skin was smooth and soft when he brushed it accidentally.

"You still want to know what I was going to say earlier?" he whispered, knowing she couldn't hear him. "If I tell you now, I never have to tell you again, deal? Not in the morning, not the day after tomorrow, not ever. Because I already told you once. Okay?" It was a cop-out, he knew. Kate would remember that she never got him to confess what he said, and this would give him an excuse to say he already told her without a guilty conscience. "I was going to say it was worth the wait," he whispered in her ear, feeling his face heat up even though she was totally oblivious. He gazed at her for a moment longer, then leaned forward quickly and pressed a kiss onto her pale forehead.

"Sweet dreams, Kate," he sighed, before turning and fleeing.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate everything you say. Sorry this chapter took a while, I've been busy with A levels and I kept changing it around. I'm still not completely happy with it but I keep getting distracted by the next chapter so I thought I'd just post it anyway, otherwise I could have it on the laptop forever xxx

Oh, and Turtler, especially for you I will try to add some Jibbs in soon, maybe as a flashback or something, but I've only ever written Tate before so I don't know how it will turn out ;-) xxx

* * *

Kate sat in the back seat of the car, Tony by her side, and sighed heavily. The traffic stretched as far as she could see, long lines of cars winding along the street and round the corner. The light reflecting off the roofs ahead hurt her eyes, and her legs were starting to get cramped from sitting still for so long. She was sure it would be quicker to get out and walk. The heat was stifling – she'd stepped out of the air conditioned apartment into the heavy heat of the morning and even walking the five meters to the waiting car had made her feel like she was melting. The tarmac was sticky in the heat, and she'd almost lost her balance when her spiky heels had sunk into the pavement instead of tapping along the surface, like she'd expected. The only thing that had saved her from falling head-first and knocking herself unconscious was Tony grabbing her arm and her waist and hauling her into a standing position. The car was air conditioned, obviously, but the air was stuffy and the bright sun combined with her nerves and the noise of the traffic was giving her a headache. 

"Cheer up, buttercup," Tony grinned, and Kate rammed her elbow into his stomach. "Sorry," he gasped, doubling over and breathing heavily.

Kate glared at him, rubbing her forehead gently to try to soothe the throbbing pain behind her eyes.

"Listen," she said, tapping his shoulder. "And listen good, because I'm only saying it once, especially as you're back to normal this morning. At least, as normal as you get."

"Saying what once?"

"Last night… um, thanks. You know, for dinner and for actually pretending to be a gentleman and not the missing link for a change."

"I can tell you're really grateful," Tony grinned.

"Don't push it," Kate warned, but she was smiling. "And erm… I'm fully aware that I could have woken up naked this morning and I didn't, and that's only because you actually managed to control your Neanderthal impulses for one night so… thank you. Really."

"You're welcome," Tony replied. "I just have one question."

"Go on…"

"I have to be sure I made the right decision. Say you _did_ wake up naked. What would you have done to me?"

Kate stared at him for a minute, then raised an eyebrow in disgust.

"If I you ever, _ever_, in your entire existence, have anything to do with me waking up naked, DiNozzo, I will tie you up with barbed wire and hang you from a washing line by your toenails while I castrate you with a rusty razor blade. Then I'll chop you up into little pieces and put you through a wood chipper, then put you back together again and give you to Gibbs. Got it?"

"I think I made the right decision," Tony nodded.

"Yes, I think you did," Kate agreed, and craned her neck to try to see the traffic. "How much longer are we going to be stuck here?"

Tony leant forward and said something to the driver in French. The radio, which had been playing quietly, was turned up, and Tony listened for a few seconds before clapping his hand on the driver's shoulder sitting back in his seat.

"So?" Kate pressed, anxious to get moving again and get the day over with. "How long?"

Tony shrugged.

"Don't know," he said.

Kate groaned and banged her head against the window, scowling as she realized that was only making her headache worse. It was bad enough that they were going to spend the day with terrorists, let alone pissing them off before they even got there by being late. And sitting around doing nothing was making her edgy. She kept thinking of a variety of worst-case scenarios, and running through plans of action in her head. Unfortunately, her imagination refused to cooperate with her and she just wound up thinking of more and more horrible ways in which she and Tony might die in the next few hours. She was so lost in thought that she didn't even notice when the car finally started moving again, and only realized they were at their destination when the driver pulled up outside a large apartment building.

"You ready?" Tony asked, and Kate nodded.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small compact mirror, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and licking her lips. She dropped the mirror back into her bag and tugged the neckline of her dress up a little further, revealing less cleavage, before biting her lip anxiously and straightening it back to how it was before. She didn't know anything about these people, apart from the fact that they were giving Al Qaeda money, and she didn't want to give them any reason to find fault with her. For all she knew, they might burn her at the stake for wearing her skirt too short. She swiped a finger under her eye to get rid of any stray smudges of eyeliner, practically jumping out of her skin when the car door was opened and the driver offered her his hand to help her out.

She closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, then climbed out of the car. Tony followed her, pulling his jacket on as he went. Kate smoothed her skirt and straightened the strap on her heels, already uncomfortably hot in the glaring heat, and waited silently while Tony arranged to be picked up at four. Kate glanced at her watch and sighed. It was ten o' clock now – that made it six hours between now and the time they could leave. '_Six hours is not that long'_ she thought to herself, as Tony offered his arm to her and led her up the steps. She followed quietly, her heels tapping on the marble floors and echoing around the lobby.

'_Six hours is not that long'_ she repeated in her mind, over and over again as she and Tony stepped into the giant elevator and sped up towards the top floor.

"You okay?" Tony asked, staring straight ahead with a small frown on his face.

"Fine," Kate lied, looking at the wall. "You?"

"Wonderful," Tony nodded, straightening his tie and standing up straighter. "Remember – act shy, and let me do the talking. Even if they piss you off beyond belief, just agree with them and smile."

"Got it," Kate nodded, stepping out of the elevator. "And _you_ remember – I'm your backup and you're mine, so don't get me killed." She said it nonchalantly, with a slight smile and a light tone, but they both knew that it wasn't as casual a comment as it appeared to be.

"I will do my best," Tony promised, knocking on the door.

Kate slipped her arm into Tony's again, partly to look the part and partly for the comfort, and held her breath. Act shy, Tony had said, and let him do the talking. Considering she didn't speak French, she was pretty sure that was going to happen anyway.

The door was thrown open and a large man with a big bushy white beard and red cheeks beamed at them. He wasn't especially tall – he was taller than Kate but a couple of inches shorter than Tony – but his giant stomach and his over-exaggerated gestures made him seem larger than life. Kate swallowed thickly and squeezed Tony's arm a little tighter. He gave her hand a comforting squeeze, but before he could speak, the man had thrown his arms around his neck and was kissing his forehead happily.

He spouted some cheerful French greetings, squeezing Tony to his considerable chest and patting his back enthusiastically. Tony gave some sort of muffled 'hello', feeling like he had when he was a little boy and his over-zealous Italian family members had passed his skinny figure around like a rag doll at family gatherings. He'd always ended up with bruises over his gangly legs and scrawny arms, from being squeezed and hugged too tightly for too long, and this was a very similar experience. The man released him several seconds later, and turned his attention to Kate. Kate took a deep breath, preparing to have the air crushed out of her lungs too, but he was much gentler with her. He seized both her hands and squeezed them, before smothering her face with kisses and smiling proudly at her.

"Uh, Kate, this is Stefan Porter," Tony said, even though Kate already knew.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," she said politely, thinking of Tony walking in on her in the shower to bring a flush of pink to her cheeks and looking at the ground to avoid eye contact.

Stefan tilted her chin up and peered into her eyes, looking at her as if she'd just done something extremely clever and grinning at her like a proud grandfather. He kissed her again, announcing something that Kate didn't understand, and wrapped one arm around both of their shoulders. He drew them into a large, expensive-looking living room and sat them on the sofa.

"What did he say to me?" Kate hissed, as Stefan went to a large wooden cupboard and pulled out three glasses.

"He said you're beautiful," Tony whispered back. "Don't worry, he'll probably start speaking English in a few minutes."

Kate nodded, wondering if she was better off knowing what was being said or not, and glanced around the room. She'd sat through her fair share of 'stranger danger' lectures in her childhood, and dealt with enough murderers at NCIS, to know that the bad guys and the good guys were not easily separated. She knew you couldn't look at someone and know from what they looked like whether or not they were a Baddie or a Goodie. Rapists and murderers didn't come with easy-to-read signs hanging around their necks, announcing to the world that they were people to be avoided. She knew better than to turn up at this guy's place and expect a 'death to America' sign above the door and the smoldering remains of the stars and stripes in the fireplace, but she hadn't expected the penthouse of a leading terrorist to be so… well, normal. Not to mention the fact that he looked like Father Christmas.

Stefan handed her and Tony a glass and poured brandy into it, tilting his own glass towards them in a silent toast before sipping on it. Kate blinked nervously, glancing at Tony to see if she should drink or not. Tony waited a couple of seconds while Stefan swallowed, then took a sip himself. Kate tapped her fingernails on the side of the glass nervously – it was a little early to be drinking, she thought, and she was afraid of being poisoned, but she couldn't exactly give it back. Tony's hand rested idly on her leg in a gesture that, to someone who didn't know better, looked for all the world like a loving caress. If Stefan had looked closely enough he might have noticed that Tony's hand stayed resolutely on Kate's knee and never made it's way up to her thigh, and that Kate's fingers were not only holding it in place, but also pressing painfully into his palm to let him know the boundaries.

Stefan's free hand dropped down and prised her hand away from Tony's, lifting it to his lips and kissing her knuckles gently. He murmured something in French, that Kate didn't understand but was obviously some kind of endearment, and she glanced at his face.

It struck her that on her left was Tony – her partner, the man she loved to hate, resident playboy of the Washington Navy Yard, and her only ally for the next three months – with his hand stroking circles on her knee, and on her right was this Santa-Look-Alike, who not only wanted her family and her friends dead, and would have no qualms about torturing her and killing her right now if he knew who she really was, but was also stroking her like she was his mistress and smiling at her like she was his granddaughter. That was enough to make her swallow her glass of brandy down in one gulp and press her legs closer to Tony's than she would have willingly done under any other circumstances. Playboy he may be, but he was definitely the lesser of two evils.

Tony had been right – after a couple of minutes of conversation with Tony, Stefan dropped the French and beamed at Kate happily. She smiled uncertainly, wondering if he expected her to understand what he'd just been talking about.

"I must introduce you to my son," he announced, in heavily accented English. Nevertheless, Kate found it a lot easier to understand than a completely different language. He called his son in, and they were joined by a younger man, roughly the same age as Tony. There was a woman behind him, holding a baby, and Kate bit her lip. It hadn't occurred to her that these people might have families.

Tony stood up as they entered the room and Kate followed suit. Stefan scooped the little baby up from the woman's arms and kissed her head, crooning softly to her in French and making her laugh. Kate smiled at the way this huge man in front of her gushed over a child. Kate felt a sudden pang of guilt and sadness that she still hadn't made it to Indiana to see her sister and the newest addition to the Todd family. She'd seen pictures, and her brother-in-law had given her a detailed account of everything from the shape of her nephew's fingernails to the number of hairs on his head, but it wasn't the same as seeing him for herself. By the time she got home and got a chance to visit, he'd be at least four months old.

Kate wondered if asking to hold Stefan's granddaughter would go against the strict and complex rules she'd studied in the bullpen with Tony before they left. Remembering the hours that had been spent over the previous weeks slumped over their desks, reciting laws and manners while McGee paced up and down with the file and quizzed them on every little detail, correcting them on even the slightest slip-up until they knew it like the alphabet, reminded Kate that these people were not her neighbours, or people she met at the gym, or strangers parading their newborns around in the park. Feeling faintly sickened that a terrorist could spark such a maternal feeling in the pit of her stomach, Kate dug her nails into her palm and tried not to look at Stefan.

It scared her that he seemed so harmless. She remembered standing in the Director's office the day before they left Washington, being handed the plane tickets and a laptop while Gibbs stood behind them with a serious expression and tried to soothe Abby while she wailed into his shoulder.

"Whatever you do," the director had told them, a grave look in his eyes and an even graver edge to his voice, "Don't forget who they are."

At the time, Kate had simply nodded. How could she possibly forget, she'd wondered? Now she understood what the director had been getting at. She'd only just met these people, and she'd forgotten already.

Stefan stopped playing with the baby and turned his attention back to Tony and Kate.

"This is my son," he said, gesturing with his free hand. "Gerard."

Gerard was obviously more reserved than his father, because he didn't pull either of them into an embrace, nor did he smother them with kisses and praise them endlessly in French while crushing their ribcages. Rather, he offered his hand to Tony and smiled warmly at him, patting him on the back as Tony took his hand. Tony introduced Kate, who tried to remember to smile as he kissed her on both cheeks and waved his wife over.

The rest of the day passed in a long, dull haze of male conversation. She was being essentially ignored by all the men in the room but Tony, which, although she was expecting it, was taking some getting used too. She found the easiest way to deal with it was to zone out and focus on something else instead. She did try to keep one ear on the discussion, but as they seemed to be talking more about sport and movies than threats to National Security, Kate decided that it wasn't too terrible if she got a little distracted. Watching Sophia – Gerard's wife – play with their daughter was more entertaining than listening to a debate on whether Brazil or Germany were the greater threat to France's chances in the upcoming soccer tournament. The conversations were mostly in English, but they may as well have been in Ancient Greek for all she understood of them. It was an endless stream of good-natured, but exceedingly tedious, arguing over who was and who was not a waste of space on the soccer pitch, and every time an agreement was reached, someone brought up another point to bicker over.

When Kate was seven and her oldest brother graduated high school, there was a big party at her house with all their family and friends. She'd sat squirming through a painful half hour while her mother yanked every last tangle out of her hair with a huge brush, then obediently held still while her mass of waves had been hauled up into a semi-respectable-looking braid and tied with a bow – which she had 'accidentally' lost twenty-five minutes later – and her skinny little body had been forced into a horrendously frilly, lacy, pink dress. Her shoes rubbed her feet so she couldn't run around in the garden with her brothers, and every time she decided the pain was worth it and she'd play anyway, someone caught her by the door and sent her back inside so she didn't ruin her dress or scruff up her hair. She'd been forced to spend the day sitting in the living room, alternating between her grandmother's lap and the floor, listening to the droning voices of all her male relatives talking endlessly about their jobs and baseball. She'd been so bored she'd ended up counting the flowers on the wallpaper, and the boredom, combined with the scratchy dress and the too-tight shoes, not to mention the fact that she got in trouble for losing her hair ribbon, had combined to make that day the absolute worst of her entire childhood.

Sitting beside Tony now, listening to the constant stream of team tactics and possible game plans, Kate was reminded of that day. It was nearly twenty years ago, but she was still slightly bitter about it.

Kate surreptitiously tried to look around the apartment without crossing the line of natural curiosity, but found she couldn't do much more than glance around and look at a couple of paintings and photographs before she would look suspicious, so she stopped. She fiddled with the edge of her dress, feeling bored and lonely, even though Tony was right beside her and she was in a room full of people. She folded the hem around her fingers, tugging a loose thread free and wrapping it around her thumb until the blood supply was cut off and she had to untie it. Watching the colour flood back to her skin, Kate started fiddling with her nails. It occurred to her that she could grow her nails now – long nails were not the most practical of things when you were working with crime scenes and guns, so she always had to keep her nails fairly short at NCIS.

Feeling totally miserable and utterly convinced that she and Tony were way, way out of their depth, Kate shifted closer to Tony and squeezed his hand for reassurance.

'_Six hours is not that long.'_ She repeated her mantra from earlier in her head, trying to remind herself. It could be worse, she supposed – at least they weren't discussing their plans to blow up the White House. On the other hand, the fact that it wasn't the current topic of conversation didn't necessarily mean it wasn't a plan. At least if they discussed it she could do something.

Trying to weigh up the pros and cons of listening to terrorist plans actually made time pass quicker, Kate found with a surprise – either that, or she'd discovered some sort of time-trick that meant that six hours really _wasn't_ that long because, surprisingly soon, it was four o' clock and Tony was embracing their host as enthusiastically as he himself had been greeted that morning. Kate hovered uncomfortably behind him, looking at the floor. Acting shy was actually easier now than it had been earlier – before, she'd had to force herself not to present herself as Tony's equal, a defensive habit that was hard to break after all the years of fighting her way through the male-dominated Secret Service. Now, though, she felt awkward and uncomfortable. Tony seemed to have already sweet-talked his way into Stefan and Gerard's good-books, while she felt she knew even less about them than she had before. Still, she supposed that was a good thing, because it made it easier to keep up the shy, nervous act.

The drive back to the apartment was short, with no traffic to slow them down. Tony was glad. He felt like he needed to change his clothes and shower, shake his hair out of it's neatly combed style and slob out on the sofa for a while with pizza and beer, to make himself feel more like Tony, bad-mannered-joker, and less like Anthony, friend-of-terrorists.

Kate dropped down onto the sofa as soon as they got in and kicked her shoes off, lying sprawled out over the sofa for a second before sitting up and making room for Tony. She'd only been sitting around all day, but she'd been on edge the whole time and the adrenaline rush had exhausted her. Her foot hurt, and she examined it carefully. She winced as she discovered the large red patch of raw skin on the side of her foot – apparently wearing designer heels did not exempt you from blisters – and poked it cautiously. She grimaced and moved her hand away, sighing.

"You okay?" Tony asked, tugging his tie loose and glancing at her.

"Yeah, it's just a blister," Kate shrugged, reaching for the TV guide.

"No, I meant… are you okay? After today?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You were clinging onto my hand for dear life back there, I could barely feel my fingers."

"So?"

"So at home, you get all outraged if I so much as brush against you."

Kate blinked, giving a little half-shrug and curling her legs up underneath her body.

"We're not at home," she said, turning the TV on and flicking through the channels before Tony could question her further and she did something stupid like cry or yell at him.

It didn't escape Tony's attention that she hadn't said she was alright, nor that she was blatantly avoiding the conversation, but he knew better than to push the issue. Kate found a channel with English subtitles, and rested her head on the arm of the sofa.

"Did you know he had a granddaughter?" Kate asked, out of the blue.

"No," Tony said. He didn't need to ask who 'he' was.

"I wish he didn't," Kate said, so quietly that Tony barely heard her.

Tony stared at her for a long time.

"Me too," he sighed.

That evening, after going through an extremely long and pointless process of deciding where to go for dinner, which consisted of several minutes of 'you choose' 'no, you choose', and finally ended with both Kate and Tony admitting that actually neither of them wanted to go anywhere at all, Kate had disappeared into her bedroom and Tony had given up trying to better himself by watching French documentaries and gone to bed himself. He couldn't sleep, and as he lay staring at his ceiling with his hands folded behind his head and his duvet tangled around his waist, he wondered if Kate was sleeping or if she was staring at the ceiling as well.

Kate looked at the laptop sitting on the chair by her dresser, and the page of neatly typed codes sitting on top. Enough numbers and sequences to make McGee die of pleasure on the spot, she thought with a small smile. She wondered if she should name the laptop Abigail, but then remembered her dog, Toni, and the garden gnome that sat on her neighbour's balcony at home, which she had christened Gibbs because of the way it hunched over and glared at her. Her New Year's Resolution had been to get a life and stop naming things after her co-workers, so she decided against naming the laptop. Thinking about Abby made her think of the way she'd sobbed on Gibbs' shoulder when she and Tony were getting ready to leave, and made her feel homesick. And scared – she and Tony had hugged Abby tight and promised to get home safely, but in reality, that wasn't a promise they could really make, was it? And even if everything went perfectly and she and Tony returned home without so much as a bruised elbow or a scraped knee, it would still be a whole three months before she saw Abby again. She wouldn't hear one of Ducky's stories or try not to laugh as Jimmy Palmer quaked in terror at the sight of Gibbs for a whole three months.

Kate felt a lump forming in her throat and swallowed hard. Her throat constricted tightly and made it hard to swallow, so she rolled onto her front and pressed her face against her pillow, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, feeling her cheeks flush. She couldn't cry – Tony would hear. He was only a few meters away, just the other side of the wall, and if she started to cry now then he would hear every little whimper that escaped her lips, already sore from the way she had her teeth clamped around them to keep herself under control. She tried to think of something happy, that made her laugh, but she hadn't been in Paris long enough to have any memories to draw on and so everything she thought of made her more homesick. It was ridiculous – it was the second day, only the first _whole_ day, and she was already a wreck.

She tried to think about Stefan's granddaughter – how her eyes were huge and brown and her hair was all curly at her ears and she had a little high-pitched giggle that had made Tony stare at her like she was an alien. It occurred to Kate that if she and Tony were successful, she would most likely end up an orphan, or at the very least fatherless, and felt a crushing guilt inside her chest. Killing terrorists was one thing. Killing a little girl's Daddy was another. She took a deep, shaky breath and dug her nails into her skin. _'Do not cry'_, she commanded herself. _'Do. Not. Cry.'_

Tony sighed heavily, glancing at the clock to see how much time had passed. Not much. He heard a faint noise coming from the room next door, a muffled, gasping noise. It sounded like a kitten mewling far away. He recognized that sound. It was soft and quiet and it sent shivers down his spine. His parents had had a miserable marriage, and he'd spent enough nights lying awake listening to their bitter rows to recognize the sound of a woman crying into her pillow. The idea that Kate was in the room next door crying – something he'd seen her do on a grand total of three previous occasions – made him want to drag her out of bed and put her on the next plane to Washington DC, NCIS and the job be damned. He desperately wanted to do for Kate what he'd never been able to do for his mother, and hold her and stroke her and make it all better, but he knew that if she thought he knew she was crying then she would stop, and the last thing he needed was an emotionally shattered Kate trying to deny she was upset. He stared at the digital clock display beside his bed, watching as the next half hour disappeared in a glowing red line of numbers, and finally heard Kate's crying subside at around midnight. He listened for a few more minutes, to make sure Kate wasn't going to cry again, and when no snuffling cries were forthcoming he finally allowed himself to close his eyes and sleep.

Kate woke up around one in the morning, dehydrated and miserable. Her pillow was still wet with tears, and her head was throbbing steadily. Her eyes and nose felt stuffy and her stomach hurt from crying herself to sleep. She felt floppy and weak, and wished she wasn't by herself. _'You aren't by yourself'_ a little voice in her head piped up. _'Tony's next door'_. For a brief moment, Kate considered going into Tony's room and waking him up but then she dismissed it as crazy. What good would that do? She rolled onto her side and stared at the window, looking at the dark sky between the gap in the curtains. She shivered, though she wasn't cold, and wished someone was lying next to her to share their body heat with her. Technically, she did, but he was in Washington, and she had her doubts about whether he'd still be there when she got home. She didn't think so, somehow – he was nice enough, but he wasn't too happy about her going away for such a long time and he wasn't special enough for her to be dealing with the extra hassle of a long-distance relationship while she was working this case. They were kind of unofficially broken up, by some sort of mutual and unspoken decision.

That thought was enough to remind her of her abject misery at her entire situation, and she forgot to even worry about Tony hearing her as she rolled onto her front again and burst into tears, crying softly into her hands. A couple of minutes later, her bedroom door opened and she gasped, shoving her hand under her pillow to look for her gun before she realized it wasn't there and more tears spilled over her cheeks.

"Kate, are you crying?"

Kate squinted in the dark and realized it wasn't anyone that would hurt her, it was just Tony.

"Did I wake you up?" she asked, quickly wiping her face with the back of her hand and wincing at her hoarse, croaky voice.

"Yeah, but… what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kate lied, fiddling with the tassels on her comforter as Tony hovered in the doorway. She watched his shadowy figure make it's way across her room and felt the bed dent where he sat down.

"Kate… I'm not going to lie awake all night just listening to you cry and not do anything," he began.

"I'll stop," Kate said hurriedly as she wiped more tears, considering denying she was crying in the first place but deciding it was pointless. "I won't keep you awake."

"No," Tony said, catching her hand as she brushed tears from under her eyes and wiping them away himself. "If you want to cry… I mean, I don't know why you're crying, but I can kind of guess, and I know you probably don't want to cry in front of me because you're tough and all that crap, but… if you're going to be in tears all night long I'd like to at least know that I wasn't a total jackass and that if there was anything I could do to make you feel better that I did it. Or at least did my best."

Kate smiled weakly and shook her head, dislodging more tears from her eyelashes as she did so.

"Thank you," she said, her breath hitching and her cheeks flushing a little. She had never been so grateful for the dark before in her life – she didn't want Tony to see her blushing as well as crying.

"So… is there anything I can do?"

Kate shrugged and shook her head sadly.

"You want a glass of water? Or a cup of tea or something?"

"Thanks," Kate said. "But I'm okay."

"Need the Sex Machine to take your mind off your troubles?" Tony grinned, and Kate kicked out weakly at him and snorted. "Ah, see, you're smiling!" Tony crowed.

"How do you know? It's dark!" Kate said, knowing full well that she was smiling and Tony could tell.

"Hey, you just got offered a free night with me, of course you're smiling!"

"What do you mean free?" Kate teased. "Do you normally charge?"

Relieved that she was getting back to her usual self, even if it would only last for a few minutes, Tony grinned and grabbed the nearest pillow. Thwacking it down firmly on her face and raising it up for another blow, he poked his tongue out and grinned. Kate giggled, squirming away from him and throwing another pillow back. He lunged for the light, switching it on and momentarily blinding them both. As their eyes adjusted, Tony saw Kate's face, pale and streaked with tears, and hesitated. Kate hit him round the head triumphantly, jolting him out of his shock and reminding him why he was up at one fifteen in the morning having a pillow fight with his partner. He grabbed her round the waist and pinned her onto the bed, beating her repeatedly with the pillow until she dropped hers and brought her hands up to protect herself.

"You win, you win!" she shrieked, kicking her legs to try and get free and trying her best to look innocent.

"Not unless you say 'Tony is my hero'," Tony grinned.

"No!" Kate squealed, and Tony raised the pillow again. "Okay! Okay! Tony is my hero!" Kate shrieked, laughing.

Tony dropped the pillow and got off Kate, draping the duvet over her as she lay panting and smiling.

"Feel better?" he asked, putting the pillows back at the top of the bed.

"Much. Thanks, Tony."

Tony bowed low, waving an imaginary hat in the air and switching the light out.

"See you in the morning," he said, heading towards the door. "If you want anything, don't hesitate."

Kate nodded. Though the pillow fight had cheered her up a lot, seeing Tony go back to his room had left that knot of loneliness in her stomach again and she knew she had only been distracted from her mood and wasn't back to her usual self yet.

"Erm, Tony?" she called, biting on her lip and turning bright red.

"Kate?"

"You know… yesterday… what you said about getting lonely? Did you mean it?"

"Of course I did."

"Do you mind…?" Kate trailed off, looking down to avoid looking at Tony.

"If you don't hog the duvet," Tony shrugged with a smile.

Gratefully, Kate climbed out of her own bed and followed Tony into his room. The uncarpeted floor of his bedroom was cold under her feet, so she hopped onto the bed quickly beside Tony and slid down under the duvet.

"You know," Tony grinned, propping himself up on one elbow and flashing his trademark smirk. "With your cheeks all flushed and your hair all mussed and all out of breath… you look like you just -"

"Say it, DiNozzo, and I swear I will kill you."

"Say what?"

"You know what."

"Do I? Am I mind reader? Do you not think that if I was, NCIS would give me payrise? And seeing as you're taking up half my bed, not to mention the fact that you have extremely icy feet, I think you owe me. Now, what perverted little thoughts is Kate Todd hiding beneath her prim and proper exterior? Certainly wouldn't have gone down well at your Catholic school, now, would it?"

"DiNozzo, I am warning you…"

"Oh, you're warning me? And what exactly are you going to do to me? I'm your hero, remember?"

"You are not my hero."

"I am."

"No, you're not."

"I am. You know I am."

"Nope."

"Yes."

"Goodnight, DiNozzo," Kate laughed, trying to sound firm and closing her eyes.

"Night Kate."

"Hey, Tony."

"Yes?"

"I'm only saying this because I'm emotionally unstable, and if you mention it again I will deny it under torture, but…"

"It's okay, I won't let anyone torture you. Spill."

"You kind of are my hero. A little bit. If you want to be."

"Do I have to wear tights? And underpants on the outside of my clothing?"

"I'd really rather you didn't."

"Then I will gladly be your hero, Kate."

Kate lay still for a few minutes, trying not to think about the fact that she was in bed with Tony DiNozzo, before turning over to face him. His eyes were closed, seemingly asleep, and she poked him gently in the ribs where she knew he was ticklish, to see if he was faking. He didn't so much as twitch, so she rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled closer to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi everyone! Sooooo sorry this has taken so long, I promise not to be so slow with the next chapter! Thank you to everyone who reviewed xxx

* * *

Tony woke up the next morning half hanging off the edge of the bed. He blinked sleepily, and before he even woke up properly, his brain – well trained after many disastrous, hangover-ridden mornings in college – kicked in, reminding him that there was a female presence beside him when he fell asleep and that the appropriate course of action would be to roll over and cuddle her. Even if she was the reason he was practically falling out of his own bed, which struck him as more than a little unfair. He turned over slowly, groaning as his back twinged in protest, and dropped his arm forwards. In the split second it took to make that movement, he remembered the who and the why of the situation, and that the source of the unmistakably girly smell of coconut shampoo and creamy body lotion that was currently hovering over his pillow was not from some girl he'd picked up the night before, but Kate. And that she had been there because she was upset and asked if she could stay in his room. He winced as he felt his arm drop down to cover her body, too late for him to do anything about it, and braced himself for the screeching and kicking he knew would be coming. 

Much to his surprise, instead of the angry shouting and name-calling he'd come to expect when Kate wasn't happy, all that happened was that Kate turned over and curled into his chest. Tony froze. His left arm was trapped under Kate's head now, and his right was draped over her chest. He was essentially cuddling her, and there was nothing he could do. He quickly withdrew his right arm, so he wasn't holding Kate at all, but that did nothing for the fact that his arm was still trapped underneath her, which, although it wasn't his fault, he knew Kate would blame him for. With a grimace, Tony resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't be walking straight anytime soon and squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation. After a couple of seconds, when nothing happened, he dared to open one eye a little. Kate was still lying where she had been before. He wondered if she had become more malicious in her attacks and was trying to lull him into a false sense of security before she caught him off guard and did something unimaginably cruel and painful to him. He peered at her face, gingerly moving her fringe from her eyes so he could gage her expression, and was surprised – not to mention immensely relieved – to find that she was still asleep.

Tony tried to ease his arm out from under Kate's head, in the hope of moving before she woke up and, at the same time, not wake her up himself. Inching his arm along the pillow, fraction by fraction, he began to relax a little and think he might make it, when Kate opened her eyes and looked up at him. Tony swallowed thickly and made a vow that, if he survived Kate's wrath, he would stop taunting Jimmy Palmer for being such a nervous wreck whenever someone spoke to him. He used to think he was just a wimp – now he totally understood where he was coming from.

"What?" Kate asked, rubbing her eyes blearily and looking at Tony with a small frown on her face.

"What what?" Tony replied, desperately trying to play for time and delay the inevitable.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Kate yawned.

"Like what?" This was a good plan, Tony decided. A very good plan indeed.

"Like you're a little kid caught with your hand in the cookie jar." Kate's eyes narrowed and she glared at Tony suspiciously, her previously relaxed body tensing. "What did you do to me?" She sat up, and Tony shook his arm to get some of the blood flow back. He fought back a grin as Kate tentatively combed her fingers through her hair and inspected her clothes and pillow for something that wasn't there. "DiNozzo…"

"Yes?" Tony responded, fixing what he hoped was an innocent 'who, me?' look on his face.

Kate glowered at Tony for a minute, then flung the duvet off herself and got out of the bed.

"I'm going to have breakfast," she announced, stalking off out of the room.

Tony made a face at Kate's retreating back and grinned to himself. At least she seemed like she was back to her normal self this morning. She didn't seem like she was about to have another breakdown. Tony was the first to admit that he did not do well with Angry Kate, but at least he knew how to deal with her (cower in the corner and agree with everything she said until she got sick of yelling at him and stormed off). Upset Kate was an entirely different ballgame. He'd managed okay last night, but in the cold light of day, hitting her around the face with a cushion probably wouldn't do the trick. He wasn't nearly as skilled at the whole hair-stroking, comfort-whispering thing that Ducky seemed to manage when Upset Kate came along and disturbed the natural order of things with her wide eyes and her sad, withdrawn silences that knocked even Gibbs for six. Fortunately, Upset Kate was a much rarer sight around the bullpen than Angry Kate. _Un_fortunately, they were not in the bullpen, and after last night, Tony had the distinct impression that this was just the sort of environment that Upset Kate would thrive on.

He sprawled out over the warm spot left behind by Kate and closed his eyes. His time-change induced insomnia, coupled with his midnight antics with Kate, meant that his energy levels were still pitifully low. Tony chuckled to himself as he settled back against the soft pillows – 'midnight antics' made it sound like he and Kate had been doing something far less innocent than hitting one another with pillows. If he used that particular phrase around Gibbs, he'd probably have a coronary. So would Kate, to be honest. Tony yawned and tried to get back to sleep, but Kate was clattering around in the kitchen – probably deliberately – and the noise was keeping him awake. Kate clearly had some kind of serious opposition to him getting any decent rest, so he swung his legs off the bed and followed her, leaving his robe on the floor where he had 'unpacked' it and entering the kitchen in only his boxers. He yawned loudly, scratching his bare stomach.

"That is such an attractive sight in the morning, DiNozzo," Kate said, winking at him and sipping her coffee while Tony peered at his reflection in the fridge door. "And very hygienic, I'm sure."

Tony made a face at her, sitting opposite her at the table and helping himself to a slice of toast from her plate.

"Are you going to have a shower anytime soon?" Kate frowned, pulling her plate out of Tony's reach and licking melted butter from her fingers. "Or is eau de body odour the new thing?"

"Anything else you'd like to find fault with, to save time later?" Tony asked.

"Well, now you mention it, a comb wouldn't kill you," Kate smiled sweetly, eyeing Tony's hair critically. "You kind of resemble a drunken hedgehog right now. You do know what a comb is, right?"

"Kate, I would be offended, but you and I both know that you're only such a sarky little thing because you're embarrassed about your desires," Tony retorted, grinning smugly and leaning back in his chair.

"My desires?" Kate asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes. Your burning desire to just drop everything and leap on this – admittedly very desirable and jump-able – body. I don't blame you, if I was a woman I'd feel the same way. In fact, I admire your self-control. But I think you should know, DiNozzos never reject the advances of any female admirer. Unless they're, you know, a blood relative."

"Tony, will you promise me something?" Kate asked, putting her cup of coffee down and leaning towards Tony.

"I will do my best," Tony said, winking.

"If I ever abandon my principles, dignity and taste so far that I actually see you as potentially 'advance-able', please, please swear that you will just shoot me and put me out of misery. If I ever descend into such a disturbed and tormented mental state that I do consider you a faintly attractive prospect instead of an immense annoyance, my life won't be worth living."

"Is that right?" Tony asked, eyes twinkling. "So what you're saying is, no matter what, you would never, ever even consider it?"

"Okay," Kate admitted. "World peace, maybe. Or if it would end poverty in Africa, or cure cancer or something like that. Short of that, I highly doubt that even a gun held to my drug-addled mind would convince me that sleeping with you would be a marginally better idea than being blown to smithereens."

Tony grinned, and Kate narrowed her eyes at him.

"What?" she asked, her voice full of suspicion.

"You ever hear the phrase 'the lady doth protest too much', Katie?"

"Did you ever hear the phrase 'over my dead body' Tony?" Kate replied, taking her plate and cup to the sink and dropping them in. "I am going to have a shower – and before you ask, yes, I do mind if you join me."

Tony jumped up and followed Kate out of the kitchen.

"You know, I wasn't going to suggest I joined you," he smiled, as she made her way into her bedroom. "Someone's got a dirty mind."

"Oh yeah?" Kate asked, picking up her towel and heading towards the bathroom. "I wonder where I got that from?"

"Great minds think alike, Kate!"

"That explains why nobody ever agrees with you," Kate muttered.

She stepped inside the bathroom, closely followed by Tony, and hung the towel on the rail. She switched the shower on and took her robe off, and Tony stared for a second, wondering if he was actually going to be allowed to stay and allowing himself to imagine for one blissful second what he might see – or be invited to take part in, if he played his cards right. He was jolted out of his reverie by Kate's forefinger and thumb clasping tightly onto his ear lobe and forcing him towards the door.

"Ow!" he yelped, scampering backwards as fast as he could.

"Goodbye, DiNozzo," Kate said, slamming the door in his face and locking it. "And if you pick the lock I'll shoot you!" she called from the other side, and Tony sighed.

"You know, as disheartening as this is, Kate, I'm going to take it a sign that you're overwhelmed by how much you want me and that things are going to improve over the next few days!" Tony called over his shoulder as he headed for the sofa and fished the remote control out from under the cushion.

---

"What are we doing today?" Kate asked, joining Tony on the sofa and rubbing her damp hair to speed up the drying process.

Tony jumped. He hadn't expected Kate to appear like that, and he certainly hadn't expected her to look so clean and new. Her hair was flicking around in wet tendrils, the moisture making it heavier and darker than it normally was, and she smelt like rain water and shampoo.

Tony plucked a strand of hair from Kate's collar bone and twirled it between his fingers. Kate glanced at him, slightly bemused, but she didn't say anything. She was obviously in a good mood. "Nothing," Tony said, in answer to her question. "Just having lunch with Stefan."

Kate nodded thoughtfully and frowned a little. The movement tugged the hair free from Tony's fingers and he picked it up again, examining it closely.

"What are you doing?" Kate asked, sounding faintly irritated as she reached for the remote control that was resting on Tony's knee.

"Sorry," Tony said hastily, dropping Kate's hair and putting his hands back in his lap. Clearly Kate's good humour was dissipating at the idea of lunch with Stefan, and Tony didn't want to give her cause to take out her new-found bad mood on him. "Sorry. I'm not used to your hair being curly, that's all. I like it. You should have it curly more often."

"Excuse me?" Kate snorted, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Did you just make a suggestion about my hair?"

"Why?" Tony asked, nervous that Kate might have taken offence. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Kate said, eyebrows raised.

"Hey!" Tony sat up in shock and realisation. "I am not gay!"

"Didn't say you were, DiNozzo," Kate smiled. "You came to that conclusion all by yourself."

Tony pouted, shooting Kate an evil look from narrowed eyes. "Why don't you have your hair curly?" he asked a couple of minutes later, reaching out to fiddle with it again.

"Because I have neither the time nor the inclination to spend an hour and a half sitting around with a pair of curling tongs and a can of hairspray in order to achieve curls that will drop out within six hours," Kate replied. "Get off me."

Tony dropped her hair obediently.

"I'll do it for you," Tony offered. "Do you have your curling tongs with you? I can do it now, if you want."

"You can't put curling tongs on wet hair, DiNozzo," Kate replied, not moving her gaze from the television.

"Why?"

"For the same reason that you can't put a TV in a bath tub," Kate said. "Jeez, you'd have thought that between physics 101 and your friends on queer eye, you'd know that by now."

Tony made a face at her and snatched the remote control back. He'd relinquished it willingly enough earlier on, when Kate had snatched it from his lap and put the news on in English, but that had been different. She had been mid mood swing, and for his own safety, Tony had decided that the best course of action was to not make a fuss about one little television program. Now, though, she seemed to have cheered up again, and she was making fun of him, so he saw no reason let her have her own way.

Kate made a face at him as the news was replaced by brightly coloured cartoons running around and shrieking in French, but she didn't say anything about it. She had come to the conclusion that being the only person in the room who didn't speak the language left her feeling isolated and humiliated, and it wasn't fair on Tony to have him translate every single word for her. People often said the best way to learn a language was to immerse yourself totally in it, and though she wasn't entirely sure that she'd learn much of value from fluorescent orange cats who kept running one another over with tractors, it was a start. Besides, if she was going to be having lunch with Stefan she could probably do with some brain-mushing entertainment beforehand, and she was definitely more likely to get that from Tony's cartoons than from the news. Having said that, she could get far more entertainment from teasing Tony than she'd ever get from a children's television show…

"You know," Kate said, turning to Tony and smiling innocently. "There's nothing _wrong_ with being gay. I'll still like you."

"You don't like me now. And I am not gay," Tony groaned. Clearly, Kate was going to extract as much twisted pleasure from that one off-hand, badly-thought-out hair comment as she possibly could.

"As long as you're happy, that's all that counts," Kate grinned, winking at him and turning back to the television.

"I'm having a shower," Tony growled sulkily, heading for the bathroom.

"Bye," Kate grinned, trying hard not to laugh as Tony walked past her with an evil look. It was fun getting one up on him for a change.

Several minutes later, after Kate had changed the channel onto some badly dubbed American soap and was trying to work out what was going on from reading the actors' lips, Tony poked his head around the bathroom door and cleared his throat.

"Kate," he said, and Kate raised her head. She was more than a little surprised to find Tony, half-naked and dripping wet, hanging around the bathroom door. She had seen him unclothed before – only twenty minutes ago he'd been sitting beside her in his boxer shorts – but seeing him straight from the shower like this was… different. It was somewhat more intimate, and Kate wasn't sure if she was horrified or not, and she found herself eyeing up his torso appreciatively and thinking what a waste it would be if he really _was_ gay. She was jolted out of her reverie by a clicking noise, and saw Tony snapping his fingers towards her.

"Earth to Kate?" Tony called. "Hello? I know you're really busy admiring my body, but hold that thought, because I need a favour."

"I was not admiring your body," Kate snapped, the blush creeping up her neck threatening to prove that, in fact, admiring his body was exactly what she had been doing. "I wasn't," she added, somewhat unnecessarily, and realized as the words left her mouth that Tony was only kidding and she should have just kept her mouth shut.

"You were!" Tony exclaimed, grinning wildly.

"I was not!"

"Then why'd you say it the second time? If you really weren't, you wouldn't be so defensive," Tony taunted, and Kate felt her cheeks burn.

"Well if I didn't say I wasn't, you'd accuse me of not denying it," Kate retorted. "It's a no-win situation."

Tony's grin faded a little, and Kate thanked her lucky stars that her three brothers had teased her so much – though her twelve-year-old self might have been embarrassed when her brothers announced that she had a crush on the boy next door in the middle of dinner, it was nothing compared to how she'd feel now if Tony found out that she had been eyeing him up.

"What do you want, anyway?" she snapped. She didn't mean it to come out quite so nastily, but Tony didn't seem to notice.

"Is this yours?" Tony held up the pink razor Kate had left in the shower earlier on, and Kate nodded. "Can I borrow it?"

"No!"

"I need to shave, Kate, come on!" Tony begged. "I dropped mine and the blade broke, I'll slit my throat if I use it!"

"Good! Put mine back where you found it!"

"Please? Come on, Kate, just this once?"

"Absolutely not! It's disgusting!"

"Fine," Tony muttered, going back into the bathroom and shutting the door. "Just remember – it's your cheek that Stefan's going to expect me to kiss later on, so when you end up with scratches all over your face, you've only got yourself to blame!"

Tony emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, clean-shaven, and Kate glared at him. She scowled as she noticed a small nick on the base of Tony's throat, and got to her feet as he went into the bedroom.

"That cut had better be there because you used your own razor, DiNozzo!" she yelled, through the closed door.

"I needed to shave!"

"Well, you're buying me a new razor!" Kate demanded. "I'm not touching that thing ever again!"

Tony rolled his eyes at the door, grateful that Kate hadn't yet developed Gibbs' ability to apparently see through walls.

"It's only a scratch," he sighed, glancing at it in the mirror and deciding that Kate was making a fuss about nothing.

"Yeah, well, I might get all sorts of nasty diseases from your blood! I don't know where you've been! Or, more importantly, who with!"

"I'll buy you a new one, I swear," Tony promised.

By the time Kate had calmed down and Tony deemed it safe enough to leave his bedroom without her adding to the cut on his neck – which, despite appearances, was actually pretty sore – it was almost time to meet Stefan for lunch. Tony had the distinct impression that reminding Kate of their lunchtime plans would do nothing for her mood, but there wasn't a lot he could do about that. It was with bated breath that he snuck into the living room, making sure he was nearer to the front door than Kate, just in case he had to make a run for it, and reminded her as gently as he could that they had to leave. Surprisingly, she didn't seem to mind too much, and just sighed a little before getting up off the sofa and fetching her bag.

"Now, Tony," Kate teased, trying to lighten the mood and alleviate some of the awkwardness as they walked hand in hand along the river towards the restaurant. "There's going to be lots of attractive Parisian men in here so I don't want you to get too excited, or you might forget what we're here for."

"Huh!" Tony replied, poking Kate's ribs gently and making her laugh, despite her best efforts to play it cool. "Take a look in the mirror, and then criticise me for getting distracted! Jeez, three months with Little Miss Sarcasm? I wouldn't be surprised if I _was_ driven to men at the end of this whole thing."

"Shut up," Kate pouted, but she was smiling.

The meal passed smoothly enough, as well – Stefan didn't say anything to make them rush to the nearest secure line and talk to Gibbs, nor did he give the impression that he was even remotely suspicious of them. The only time Tony felt the least bit worried – well, _more_ worried than he would normally be while having a meal with a terrorist – was at the end, when Stefan 'invited' Kate to go shopping the next day with his daughter-in-law while he and Tony had a 'business meeting'. He said it sweetly, a friendly smile plastered across his face, but it was pretty clear that it was less of an invitation than an order. Tony had held his breath when Stefan used that 'I'm going to ask nicely but you better do as I say' tone with Kate – Gibbs was the only person Tony knew who could expect to speak to Kate like that and not induce a full-on mood, and that included the director. She might follow his orders, but she certainly didn't do it willingly half the time, and Tony was anxious to see whether Kate would lose it when Stefan treated her like he was in control of what she did. Fortunately, she just agreed and looked happy, though Tony knew she couldn't be too thrilled.

"God, I wanted to thump him," Kate muttered, after they'd left the restaurant and Stefan's car had sped off into the distance. "I hate being spoken to like a child."

"I know," Tony said, squeezing her hand comfortingly and looking out over the river. "If it's any consolation, I wanted to thump him too."

"Not really," Kate sighed, squeezing Tony's hand back and sighing. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

They sat on one of the few empty benches along the path, Tony's arm loosely around Kate's shoulders and Kate's head resting on his chest.

"I wonder why you're having a business meeting," Kate said softly, a long time later. She didn't add 'that I'm not allowed to go to', but it was fairly obvious that was what she meant. Their job meant that both Kate and Tony had learnt a long time ago that people rarely said everything in their heads, and they had learnt to pick up on those things that remained unsaid because they were often the most important parts.

"I'm sure it's not important," Tony said, rubbing Kate's arms that were suddenly prickled with goosebumps, although it was sunny and hot.

"Yeah," Kate sighed. "I wish you weren't going to be by yourself, though. It's dangerous."

"It'll be okay," Tony promised.

There was another long pause, while they looked out across the river at the boats floating past and the tourists snapping photographs. An artist came along at some point and starting colouring on the floor with chalk. Kate watched with interest as he outlined the river and the bridge and the Eiffel tower, barely looking up even to answer the questions of interested passers-by who stopped and admired his work. She shifted a little as someone walked into her line of sight and blocked her view to take a photo, and Tony moved his arm, suddenly awkward.

"Sorry," he said, as Kate sat up and fiddled with her fingernails.

"No problem," Kate replied, shifting slightly so they weren't so close. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Tony said. "I guess it's just, uh, playing the role, you know."

"Yeah," Kate agreed, staring at the floor. "I suppose we just… get into it."

"We forget," Tony nodded. "That we don't have to keep it up anymore."

"Right."

"Yeah."

"Erm…"

"Well… do you want a coffee?" Tony suggested, gesturing at the small stand a few metres away.

Kate nodded. She didn't actually – she was too hot, and she wasn't thirsty, and she knew Tony would forget who he was buying coffee for and come back with black sludge just out of habit of fetching Gibbs' drinks. Still, she wasn't one to turn down a get out of jail free card when it happened to come her way, and a couple of minutes without Tony beside her would give her time to get over the agonisingly uncomfortable situation that seemed to have arisen.

"Sure," she nodded, sighing with relief as Tony left her alone and went to get the coffee.

She took a deep breath and went back to watching the artist. She was so engrossed she didn't even notice when Tony sat down beside her and held her coffee out.

"Here," he said, and Kate took it gratefully. "Milk and sugar – that's right, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Thanks," Kate smiled, sipping it. She hadn't thought she wanted it, but it was surprisingly good. She sat quietly for a few more minutes, while the artist sketched out some more lines on the floor, and she craned her neck to see around yet another set of camera-toting tourists. That was the trouble about drawing a beautiful view, Kate supposed. Someone else was always in the way. When the artist got up off his hands and knees and went off to buy himself a cup of coffee, Kate got a proper view of the picture on the floor.

"It's good," Tony observed.

"It's very good," Kate agreed, blowing into her cup to cool her coffee before taking another sip.

"Did you ever think of doing that?"

"What?"

Tony nodded his head towards the chalk on the ground, and Kate shook her head.

"Once," Kate smiled. "When I was fifteen. I started going to this art class on Wednesdays after school, and there was this boy there -"

"Oooh!" Tony teased, and Kate batted lightly at his knee with her hand.

"Shh!" she scolded, turning a little pink. "Anyway, he was seventeen, tall, handsome…"

"Boyfriend?" Tony asked, and Kate glanced at him to make sure he wasn't teasing her again.

"Yes," she nodded. "And I know you're going to have an absolute field day with this, but… he was the first boy I kissed."

Tony choked into his coffee, attracting several strange glances from the people around them, and Kate scowled.

"It's not that bad," she said.

"You were fifteen? First kiss?" Tony asked, open-mouthed.

"Alright," Kate muttered. "I went to Catholic School, okay? There wasn't exactly an abundance of opportunity."

"But still… fifteen? That's -"

"Pathetic, yes, I know. Don't push it."

"I was going to say diabolical. Why? Surely there were plenty of boys willing enough?"

"Yeah, well, unlike some of us, who have been chasing any member of the opposite sex since the day they could walk, I had standards."

"Hey!" Tony exclaimed. "I had standards!"

"I bet you did," Kate muttered. "I bet they had to be rich, they had to be a cheerleader, and they had to put out. Right?"

"Not necessarily… rich," Tony said, shame-faced. "What was his name?"

Kate bit her lip and looked away.

"I don't remember," she said vaguely.

"Everyone remembers."

"I don't."

"Even _I_ remember my first kiss, Kate. Helena Jones, in my English class. Now we're even, you can tell me."

"I don't remember," Kate insisted.

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Because I don't want too. It's none of your business."

"He had an awful name, didn't he?" Tony grinned.

"Yeah," Kate nodded, smiling. "The worst. Embarrassingly bad."

"Quentin?" Tony suggested. "Cyril? I won't laugh, I swear. Or at least, I won't laugh at you. Archibald? Oh, was he called Jethro?"

"No," Kate laughed, shaking her head. "You can guess all you like, I'm not going to tell you."

"Did he have a girl's name?"

"No! I'm not telling you what he was called, so you may as well give up," Kate replied.

"Jeremy? Herbert?"

"No."

They made their way back to the apartment, stopping on the way so Tony could buy a new razor for Kate. Tony kept up a constant stream of names, ranging from the not-so-bad to the horrendous to the downright absurd. Kate ignored him most of the way, throwing him the occasionally scathing look or sarcastic comment, but otherwise just letting him bounce around and try to think of the name. As they approached the apartment building, she did manage to change the subject for long enough to wheedle her way into going out for dinner instead of ordering take-out, which Tony wanted to do, but once she had got her own way she was quiet again.

"Zebediah?" Tony suggested as they got into the elevator. "Doris?"

"He was a seventeen year old boy, DiNozzo, why would he be called Doris? Be sensible."

"Angus."

"No!"

They went into the apartment and Kate poured herself a glass of water.

"First dibs on the bathroom later," Tony said, breaking off from his list of names to claim the bathroom before they went out. "If I have to get all dressed up to take you to some fancy-pants restaurant, I want to get it over with so I can watch a movie or two or six while you do whatever it is you do that takes so long."

"Fine," Kate shrugged.

"You do know I only agreed to go because I'm trying to make it up to you about tomorrow, right? Don't go thinking you've got me wrapped around your little finger or anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it, DiNozzo."

"Good. Was he called Raphael?"

"Tony, come on. Please. This is getting really old now, can't you just drop it?"

"I'll drop it when you tell me. "

Kate groaned and dropped onto the sofa, switching the TV on and trying to ignore Tony's incessant twittering in her ear. They both fell asleep in front of the TV, something Kate put down to jet-lag and too much adrenaline and vowed not to let happen again – waking with her feet in Tony's lap was not something she wanted to do on a regular basis.

"Eric?" Tony yawned, checking his watch and heading for the bathroom.

Kate groaned. He was still on this stupid name thing. Surely it wouldn't do too much harm to tell him? He might tease her, but he would do that anyway. If it wasn't this, it would be something else. It was probably best to just get it over with while he was still half-asleep and they were getting ready to go out – at least if he was in the shower he wouldn't be able to talk to her, and when she went to have a bath she could ignore him. She was going to have to tell him sometime – sitting through dinner with him rattling a list of names off would just piss her off, at least now he might have some time to get it out of his system without ruining her evening.

"Frankenstein?" Tony suggested, finding a clean towel from the floor of his room and dropping it on the floor in the bathroom.

"Tony," Kate sighed.

"Yes?"

"Tony. That was his name. Now will you please, please leave me alone?"

Tony grinned slowly, contemplating the full force of what he'd just been told, and Kate gave up hope of a peaceful evening.

"Oh, Katie," he sighed, shaking his head. "I think we both know that's not going to happen, don't we?"

Kate groaned and rolled onto her front, pulling the cushion over her head to muffle out the sound of Tony singing 'Tony and Katie sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g' at the top of his voice.


	5. Chapter 5

Hi everyone! I'm not quite sure what happened with the length of this chapter, it kind of goes on a bit. A lot. Sorry. Also, sorry for the delay in updating. I want to say next time I will be quicker but that didn't turn out so well last time lol. Just to warn you, my computer spellchecker's gone a little bit pyscho so there might be some mistakes, I did read over it but I might have missed some.

And there seems to be a lot more talking in this chapter (maybe because it's longer, I don't know) so please let me know if you like the talking or if you prefer it when there isn't so much conversation (if that makes sense?).

Oh, and just to clarify, the bit in the shop, I really do not have the foggiest idea what size clothes Kate would wear that is a total and utter wild guess based on my best friend staring at a tv screen and deciding I am a teeny bit smaller. And, obviously, you can _totally_ tell that from a TV screen. The girl's a nutter. But I love her anyway.

Anyways. I've babbled on enough. On with the story!

* * *

Kate jerked as the loud, high-pitched beeping of her alarm clock jolted her out of her sleep. She groaned, rolling over in the bed and slamming her hand down angrily a couple of times in the vicinity of the clock. It fell silent, and in the quiet of the early morning, Kate could hear Tony snoring away loudly next door. She thumped her fist against the wall above her head, wincing as she realized she probably shouldn't have put quite so much strength into hitting something as hard as a wall. 

"Wake up!" she yelled, scowling as she swung her legs out of the warm bed.

For the past couple of days, she'd been able to wake up whenever she wanted and take her time getting out of bed and getting up. Now she was being woken by an alarm clock (while Tony slept) and being forced to hurry up and get ready within a time limit. It wasn't that much earlier than she had been getting up anyway, and it wouldn't take her that long to have a shower and put on some clothes, but it was the principle of the thing.

"DiNozzo!" she called, slamming her open palm against Tony's bedroom door as she made her way to the kitchen. "Get your ass out of bed!"

Kate went into the kitchen, rolling her eyes as she saw the laptop open on the worktop where Tony had been playing games after they got back from dinner the night before. It was humming faintly, and the little green light on the front was on, so Kate assumed Tony had just been too lazy or forgetful to turn it off.

"Way to preserve the environment, DiNozzo!" she yelled, tapping the touchpad to bring the computer out of hibernation.

She dropped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and glanced at the laptop. Clearly when she went to bed last night Tony had decided solitaire wasn't interesting enough and had gone after a more… _lively_… sort of entertainment. Kate shuddered as she closed down the – several dozen – windows full of photographs and videos of scantily-clad females. Men are gross, she decided. Gross gross gross.

"DiNozzo!" she called, leaning out of the kitchen door and throwing a plastic jug from the kitchen at his door. No response. Kate retrieved the jug, taking a cupful of water with her, and opened Tony's bedroom door. "To-neee," she said softly, creeping over to his bed and grinning. "Wakey wakey." Tony grunted and twitched his nose, but didn't wake up. Kate tipped the cold water onto his face, biting her lip to stop herself laughing as Tony shot up in bed and yelled, rubbing his cheek like he'd been stung. "Good morning," she giggled, and Tony yelped.

"What did you do that for?" he asked pitifully, looking like a kicked puppy.

"Figured you could do with a cold shower after all your 'hot dates' last night," Kate shrugged. "Tell me, DiNozzo, do you really think downloading explicit material full of girls who are barely legal and almost definitely faking at least half of what they're doing purely because there's a camera there is appropriate use of government property?"

"Kate, that is a high speed internet connection, at least five times faster than anything I have at home or even at NCIS. It would be a crime not to put it to good use."

"And by 'good use' I take it you mean 'porn'?"

"Well, I prefer to use the phrase 'adult material', but yes, I do."

Kate rolled her eyes and went back to the kitchen, closely followed by Tony.

"I don't know what your problem is," he claimed. "I'm maintaining our cover."

"Is that right, DiNozzo?"

"Yes. See, it's essential to our cause that we convince Stefan that we are a couple – me, the doting, rich gentleman, and you the adoring, kept woman. If I turn up to work sexually frustrated, Stefan will think I'm not getting any and he'll smell a rat."

"Are you sure it isn't more to do with the fact that you're actually having to go more than a couple of days without some kind of female attention and you're simply not capable of controlling yourself for that amount of time?"

"Either way, it amounts to the same thing," Tony shrugged. "Stefan needs to think that we're happily spending every spare minute going at it like rabbits, otherwise he'll get suspicious."

"You're disgusting," Kate said, retrieving her toast and scraping the butter-coated knife along the top of it. "You're a total pervert. I bet when you retire, you aren't going to play golf or go bird watching or anything harmless like that, you're going to be one of those strange old men that wears anoraks and hangs around outside women's restrooms at gas stations."

"It could be worse," Tony shrugged.

"_How_?"

"I could build a boat in my basement," Tony grinned, snatching the remaining toast off Kate's plate and shoving it in his mouth, before getting to his feet. "Dibs on the first shower."

Kate made a face at Tony's retreating back and sipped her coffee. The laptop, still open on the worktop, let out a shrill beeping sound. Kate glared at it, in an attempt to make it keep quiet (it was worth a try, and it always worked on McGee) but it simply beeped at her again. Kate glanced at the screen, and sighed. Apparently Gibbs wanted to talk to them. The window on the screen actually only read 'NCIS' but Kate guess it must be Gibbs – anyone else would have had the decency and the skill to key in their own name underneath. Gibbs probably wasn't aware it could be done, and if he did, he wouldn't bother. Kate sighed heavily and took another long sip of coffee. It was barely seven in the morning in Paris, which meant that Gibbs was still at NCIS after a very long day. He wouldn't be in a good mood – not that there was actually a frame of reference for Gibbs' 'good moods', they generally spanned the area between 'bad' and 'worse', but late nights meant long days and long days meant difficult cases, so Kate would bet pretty much anything that the following conversation was not going to be a particularly happy one for anyone involved. Still – making him wait would only make him worse. Better to get it over with before he burst a blood vessel.

When Kate had been in the Secret Service, various people had come across several 'suspicious' laptops, mostly of the sort that looked normal but might just blow up in your face when you hit enter. Unfortunately, said laptops generally could not be determined from genuine pieces of expensive home-office equipment until some poor person _did_ hit enter and either a) the laptop blew up in their faces or b) nothing happened. It had once fallen to Kate to retrieve one of these laptops, and she had approached it with as much caution and anxiety as befits a potentially deadly piece of machinery.

It was with this same sense of trepidation that Kate approached the laptop sitting on the kitchen counter. Sure, it wasn't going to explode, but the prospect of facing a grouchy Gibbs – who was not known for his patience, and would almost certainly blow a fuse when she reminded him that getting valuable terrorist information is not something one manages in a couple of days – was almost enough to make her wish she was back in the Secret Service. Almost.

She opened up the video conference, taking a step back as she did so just in case Gibbs had progressed from glaring and shouting and now had the ability to climb through computer screens and eat people.

"Hi, Gibbs," she said, flickering her fingers in a sort of half-wave.

Onscreen, Gibbs tilted his coffee cup towards her in what Kate supposed was a greeting.

"How's the case going?" he asked, and the following few minutes were filled with Kate filling him on the finer details that he wouldn't already know from his daily meetings with Morrow.

Surprisingly, he seemed content enough with what Kate told him, and didn't demand they work harder or faster or hand in long-winded reports for every move they made.

"Where's DiNozzo?" he asked out of the blue, interrupting Kate mid-sentence (nothing unusual there, she noted).

"Uh, shower," Kate said, mentally trying to backtrack over the conversation to see if this was actually relevant or if Gibbs had gone off on a tangent. "Do you want to talk to him? I can fetch him, if you want, but you'll have to wait for him to --"

"No, I want to talk to you," Gibbs said, interrupting once again.

Kate's eyebrows shot up, and she forced herself to try and maintain a professional front (no mean feat while she was standing in the kitchen in her pyjamas, but one she had managed so far) but the fact of the matter was, Gibbs didn't usually 'want' to talk to her. Or anyone, for that matter. Grunts and irritated 'what do you want?'s were the best that could usually be expected of him, particularly when the conversation was taking place through such a new-fangled, impossibly difficult contraption such as video conference.

"Oh," Kate said, finding her voice and managing to relax her forehead enough to bring her eyebrows back down to a human sort of level. "Erm, why, Gibbs?"

"About DiNozzo," Gibbs said, finishing his coffee and beckoning some poor, inexperienced assistant over to take the empty cup away and bring him a new one. "You two are sharing pretty close quarters over there."

"Yeah, I guess," Kate replied, unsure of where this conversation was leading.

"I know you weren't happy about it before you --"

"Oh," Kate interrupted. "It's actually not too bad. He's not as infuriating as he is the office, believe it or not. In fact, he's being something of a gentleman."

"Right. And it's part of your cover that you keep up this front. Which means that DiNozzo can't go to clubs and make out with strangers like he normally does. He might… miss his normal pastimes. And he might resort to desperate measures. If he hits on you --"

"Jeez, 'desperate measures'? Way to make a girl feel special, Gibbs."

"You know what I meant. I felt I should warn you. I thought I'd let you know that if he does… create a situation between the two of you… you don't have to go along with it as part of the cover."

"Erm, okay, Gibbs, thanks. I'll bear that in mind. But really, he's not being at all like his normal sleaze-bag self. It's fine."

"Yeah, well. Just remember that the sexual harassment policy still stands undercover."

"Alright… look, Gibbs, are you feeling alright?"

"Me? Yeah."

"Really? Because if you didn't feel good and Abby gave you some of those little pills she bought in Mexico, you should go to see a doctor and get your stomach pumped because she thinks they're headache pills but I'm pretty sure there's a reason she can't get them in the States. I don't know what they are, exactly, but I took one once and I don't actually remember what happened…"

"I didn't take anything, Kate."

"Okay then… maybe you should go talk to Ducky, just in case."

There was another beep, and the screen went blank. Kate tapped the keypad, frowning.

"Gibbs? Gibbs?"

Nothing happened. Kate rolled her eyes and closed the laptop. Tony walked in, a towel around his waist, and Kate narrowed her eyes at him.

"What?" he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Are you pathologically opposed to getting _dressed_ in the morning, DiNozzo? Or do you just like wandering around half-naked and making everyone else uncomfortable?"

"Well, if by 'everyone else' you mean 'you', seeing as it's just the two of us here, I'd have to say I enjoy it."

"Well can you put some clothes on please?"

Tony made a face, but went into his bedroom to change. Kate hovered outside the door, arms folded while she relayed her conversation with Gibbs.

"Tony, do you remember when you told me Gibbs was being weird?"

"Yeah? You said he was always weird."

"Well I've changed my mind. I just talked to him."

"What did he say?"

"I don't really know what he was on about… he doesn't have that much faith in your self-control, though. Remind me, what happened last week when I told him I was going to report you?"

"Monday or Thursday?"

"Either. Any time, really."

"I can't remember the exact words, but I think the gist of it was to shut up, stop moaning and get back on the job while you still have one to get back to."

"Right. So I wasn't misunderstanding, right? He doesn't take kindly to being used as go-between?"

"Nope."

Tony emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed, and smelling nicely of cologne. Kate stepped back to let him past, and headed for the bathroom to shower.

"See, he basically told me that I should report you if you hit on me – which, by the way, I will do, so don't even try it. But don't you think that's weird?"

"Yeah, and rude! What happens if you hit on me?"

"Uh, I go to prison for being drunk and disorderly and you get to go to court for taking advantage of me."

"Oh, ha ha, very funny."

Kate poked her tongue out at Tony and shut the bathroom door in his face, switching the shower on and shaking her hair free of it's ponytail. Tony waved his fingers in a less-than-friendly gesture at the doorway, then turned around and made his way to the kitchen. He barely got halfway across the room before he heard a loud, extremely pissed-off-sounding shriek from the bathroom.

"DiNozzo!" Kate hollered, flinging the door open and glaring at him.

Tony froze. He knew that tone. He was – unfortunately – on familiar terms with particular tone of voice, and had been for the last thirty years. He spun round, defensively, and stared for a second at Kate, before returning to his childhood (and adulthood, if he was honest) mantra.

"It wasn't me!" he protested. "It was like that when I got there, I found it like that! I don't know what happened!"

Kate looked about as convinced as his father had when he'd kicked a football through his study window, but it was worth a try, right? The fact that he didn't know what he was supposed to have done wrong was no object – neither was the fact that, whether it was deliberate or not (which it often was but wasn't this time, whatever it was) he most likely _did_ do it.

"DiNozzo, I had a bath last night and there was absolutely nothing wrong with this door. You get in here for ten minutes and now I can't lock it. What did you do?"

"It wasn't me!" At least, it wasn't him _on purpose_, which amounted to the same thing.

"I swear, DiNozzo, if you walk in on me, I am going to murder you. Slowly and painfully."

"Duly noted," Tony nodded.

Kate stormed into the bathroom again, slamming the door as hard as she possibly could. The frame rattled, and the floor shook under Tony's feet.

"It's probably slamming it like that that broke it in the first place!" he shouted, before rushing to take cover in the kitchen.

Forty-five minutes later, Kate was pacing up and down the living room, biting her nails and fiddling with her clothes. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she paused and tucked her hair behind her ears before shaking it free again and biting her lip. This was going to be a catastrophe, she could tell. She didn't want to go shopping. There was something incredibly disturbing about the idea of going shopping with women whose husbands wanted to destroy her culture and spending thousands of dollars of government money on shoes and coats while Tony, alone and without back-up, sat in some posh restaurant and drank champagne while talking to said husbands about the best way to go about blowing people up.

"You ready?" Tony asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway with a slice of toast in his hand and crumbs on his chin.

No. Absolutely not. How could she ever be 'ready' to abandon Tony with a gang of terrorists and go shopping? They were a team – they were partners. Partners did not leave one another simply because it fitted in with what the bad guys wanted.

Director Morrow and some tall man in a suit, who worked for the CIA and whose name Kate hadn't bothered to remember because it probably wasn't his real one anyway, had spent hours in MTAC and Morrow's office with her and Tony, going over files with 'TOP SECRET' stamped on them in big red letters. Tony had joked that they may as well hand the information out on street corners if they were going to make it so obvious which files related to National Security – if a bad guy got into the system, Tony had said, surely it would be better to make them hang around and trawl through thousands of files on missing sailors and murdered marines before they got what they were looking for, instead of handing it to them on a plate before anyone had time to do anything about it. CIA man hadn't seen the funny side, and Gibbs had been forced to stop what he was doing and come and help Morrow convince him that Tony could be sensible and mature, and that he was, in fact, a very good agent and not just a clown with a gun.

It was in one of the earliest meetings – meetings that all blurred into one long memory of not eating and not sleeping until every last code, password and protocol was memorized – that they had been told that they wouldn't be totally by themselves.

"There'll be agents all around you all the time," Mr. CIA had said. "You won't know who they are, you'll think they're just people in the street, but they'll be your back-up."

Apparently, it was 'safer' if the other agents – who must all be CIA or FBI or one of the other agencies that occasionally joined in the meetings before hurrying off with grave expressions, because they definitely weren't NCIS – couldn't be identified under 'duress'. It hadn't taken much prodding to get Morrow to admit that 'duress' was nothing but a more acceptable word for 'torture'. Kate wasn't sure which she had found most disconcerting – that the idea she and Tony might be tortured to death had been brought up so casually in conversation, or the fact that she and Tony could be identified but couldn't identify anyone themselves.

At the time, Kate had found some reassurance in the fact that other agents would be watching them, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice if they were needed. Now she wasn't sure if it was going to do any good – Stefan was hardly likely to let a random stranger into his meeting with Tony, which meant that Tony was going to be truly alone.

"Kate, I said are you ready?"

Kate sighed. Worrying about it wouldn't do any good, she knew that. Neither would pointing out her concerns to Tony – he was perfectly aware of the danger, and if he had managed to avoid thinking about the exact specifics, putting them into his head would do more harm than good.

"I guess so," Kate nodded, watching Tony as he shoved the remains of the toast into his mouth in one go and dusted the greasy crumbs from his clothing, before licking his fingers clean. "You're disgusting," she observed, wrinkling her nose and giving him the most disparaging look she could manage under the circumstances.

"You wouldn't have me any other way," Tony grinned, straightening his tie in the mirror and adjusting his shirt collar a little. "Let's go."

Kate forced herself to follow Tony out of the apartment and to the car. The first few minutes of the journey passed in silence, while Kate stared out of the window and worried about what was going to happen.

"You're quiet," Tony observed, after several long minutes of tense, heavy silence

Kate glanced at Tony. She wasn't sure how to reply to that, so she didn't. She just shrugged, chewing anxiously on her lip and staring at the passing traffic. There was a pause, and Kate could tell Tony was watching her even though she wasn't looking. It was hard not to look back at him, but she didn't want him to see how worried she was in case it freaked him out, and she was sure it showed on her face, so she just kept looking out of the window.

"You're worried," Tony said, after a few moments.

"What, and you aren't?" Kate snapped, turning away from the window to glare at Tony, before dropping her gaze and staring out of the window again.

"Of course I am," Tony said, and Kate glanced at him again. "I mean, you have the credit cards. I'm going to get back to the apartment to find I don't have a job anymore because you used all the agency's money in Louis Vuitton and now they've had to close down and liquidate their assets to pay off the debt. You'd be worried too."

"Oh, shut up," Kate said, smiling. "I'm not going to buy anything, anyway."

"Yeah," Tony snorted. "Right."

"Oh… shut up," Kate muttered.

"Made you feel better," Tony said smugly, flashing her a smile.

"Oh please," Kate replied with a roll of her eyes. "You didn't."

"I did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

Kate made a face at Tony, laughing as he made one back. The car pulled up behind a convertible red BMW, parked on the side of the road, and Stefan emerged with Gerard and Sophia.

"Mid-life crisis, anyone?" Kate muttered under her breath, and Tony grinned.

They got out of the car and Stefan threw his arms around them, beaming and announcing in his booming voice how it was lovely to see them again, as if they were long-lost family members that had appeared after years of separation and not virtual strangers who had never even laid eyes on one another this time last week. When Stefan released them, they barely had time to catch their breath before Gerard was giving them the same treatment. He might have held back last time they met, but apparently that kind of restraint was only used for first meetings because this time he was just as enthusiastic as his father. It was a good ten minutes before Stefan and Gerard were satisfied that Kate and Tony had been hugged and kissed enough, and fortunately Sophia was lot more reserved. Kate struggled not to laugh when Sophia curtseyed at Tony and shyly said 'Good morning, Sir' in accented English, and only managed to control herself by looking at the floor and digging her fingernails into her palms as hard as she could.

Any light-heartedness or amusement that Kate felt, however, disappeared a few minutes later when Stefan bundled Tony into his car and drove off with Gerard, leaving Kate and Sophia alone.

"Erm," Kate said, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Where are we going?"

Sophia took Kate's hand and led her off towards a row of shops, smiling at her. Kate followed her, glancing around nervously and trying to take in the unfamiliar surroundings so that in the highly likely event that she wound up here again in a few days, she wouldn't get lost. Sophia dragged her into a shop that Kate didn't see the name of, but guessed from the sheer number of women in there toting Prada handbags and wearing Jimmy Choos, was incredibly expensive. Sophia released her hand to look at the clothes, and Kate wandered over to a pile of neatly folded sweaters. She put out a hand hesitantly – she always felt guilty unfolding things in shops, because someone would have to come and tidy it up again afterwards, but how was she supposed to look at it or try it on without unfolding it first? Sophia appeared by her side, and smiled.

"Beautiful," she nodded, taking the sweater from Kate's hands and smoothing it against her body. "What is your size?"

Kate opened her mouth to protest that she didn't want to try it on, but something told her that would be pointless. She could always say it didn't fit her when she got into the changing rooms.

"Uh…two?" she said, trying to remember the size conversions.

"Here," Sophia said, picking up a sweater and pushing it into Kate's hands, folding the other one neatly and putting it on top of the pile. "Size thirty-two."

"Erm, thanks," Kate smiled, surprised at Sophia's efficiency. She obviously spent a lot of time shopping.

Half an hour later, they left the store. Kate was carrying a large bag, containing the sweater in three different colours and a pair of shoes. She had only tried the shoes on because she was bored waiting for Sophia to try on a pair, but then Sophia had insisted she bought them. Then while she was in line, about to pay for the sweater and the shoes, Sophia had appeared at her elbow and pushed the other sweaters across the counter, ignoring Kate's protests. Making a mental note not to let Sophia talk her into even trying anything else on at risk of proving Tony right, Kate followed Sophia into another store. Fortunately, it was a children's clothing store and there was no way any of it would fit Kate, even if she did want to dress up in a little pink pinafore. While Sophia gathered up little white t-shirts and bibs, Kate tried to remember the dollar-euro exchange rate and figure out how much she'd spent already.

"Will you and Anthony have children?" Sophia asked, once again appearing out of nowhere.

"Oh, no," Kate said, shaking her head quickly. "No."

"No?" Sophia looked taken aback, and Kate realized she had said the wrong thing.

"Well, uh, maybe," she lied, trying to backtrack. "Probably. Erm, hopefully. But not yet."

"Oh," Sophia smiled, and Kate felt relieved. Obviously she'd managed to salvage the situation. "Soon."

"Well…"

"Soon," Sophia nodded. "Your children will be very beautiful."

"Oh," Kate said. "Erm, thank you." She didn't like the way this conversation was going at all. The thought of her and Tony having children was… frightening, to say the least.

"Buy this," Sophia ordered, handing Kate a fluffy white teddy bear. "And these." Kate blinked, her mouth open in a little round 'o' of shock as Sophia filled her hands with teddy bears and bootees and sleep suits.

"But…" Kate protested, as Sophia steered her towards the counter, "I don't have kids…"

"You should," Sophia nodded, fixing Kate with a reproving look. "These will make you hurry up."

Kate swallowed and obediently handed her credit card over to the cashier. She knew it was illogical, and a total waste of money, but her trained reaction when looked at like that was to do as she was told before she got herself into more trouble.

The rest of the day passed in much the same way – and when Kate got over the initial shock of the whole thing, she actually found she had quite a good time. Sophia was sweet, and friendly, and when Kate pressed her for information about Stefan she seemed totally oblivious about what his meetings with her husband and Tony entailed. Kate was a little relieved by that – at least she didn't need to feel guilty about being friends with her if she wasn't doing anything wrong, and it meant that hopefully her little girl would be able to stay with her mother if and when Kate and Tony completed their mission and Gerard and Stefan were caught.

By the time Kate got home that night, she was in a markedly more cheerful mood than when she had left – a mood that was only improved by the fact that Tony was sitting on the sofa in one piece, with slightly scruffier hair than he had left with but without a scratch or bruise to suggest that he had encountered any difficulties during the day.

"Did you buy me a present?" Tony asked with a grin, as Kate closed the door behind her.

"Yes, actually," Kate replied, sorting through the dozen or so bags in her hands and throwing Tony one with Armani printed on the front. "After the fuss you made when yours was incinerated, I figured you could do with another one."

Tony looped the silk tie around his neck and grinned at Kate.

"Thanks," he said.

Kate dropped the bags on the coffee table and flopped down onto the sofa, kicking her shoes off.

"My feet are killing me," she moaned, stretching out and nudging Tony with her foot. "Move up."

"You know, I think Sophia had the right idea earlier on," he said, sliding along the sofa to make room for Kate to lie down. "You know, all that 'Sir' business and curtseying at me. I think you should do that."

"I bet you do," Kate snorted, switching the TV on and tugging the nearest cushion over to rest her head on.

Tony nosed through the bags on the table, peering inside them and examining their contents.

"I thought you weren't going to buy anything?" he asked.

"Yeah, well, Sophia's kind of like Abby," Kate shrugged.

"In what way?"

"Impossible to say 'no' to."

Tony held up the baby things Sophia had made Kate buy earlier, and frowned.

"Something you want to talk about, Kate?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" Kate asked, lifting her head.

Tony waved the teddy bear in Kate's face, and she batted his hand away with a frown.

"Sophia wants us to have a baby," she yawned, resting her head back on the pillow. "Apparently our children are going to be beautiful."

"And I assume this is to aid the making of said baby?" Tony asked, holding up a handful of blue satin and lace with a huge grin on his face. "La Perla or Victoria's Secret, Kate?"

"Hey!" Kate protested, sitting up and trying to snatch the bag away from Tony. "Stop going through my stuff. And quit feeling up my underwear!"

"Believe me," Tony said, "This is _lingerie_. And very nice it is too. In fact, I think I deserve a little modeling demonstration."

"What you deserve," Kate muttered, snatching them out of Tony's hands and shoving them into the bag, "is a kick in the head."

"Now now, no need to get irritable," Tony grinned, lifting Kate's feet into his lap and rubbing them gently. "Seriously, how was today? Did you find out anything useful?"

Kate looked up, ready to protest that Tony had his hands all over her toes, when she realized he was actually being sweet for a change and was doing nothing more harmful than massaging her feet.

"No," she said, smiling gratefully at Tony. "Not really. I asked her about Stefan and Gerard, but it was hard to ask questions when I don't know how much she expects me to know. I don't want to make her think I'm interested, either – she doesn't seem to care what her husband does for a living, so if I seem fascinated she might think it's odd and mention it to Gerard and Stefan. I don't think she knows what's going on, though… she was pretty vague with her answers, but it was more an 'I don't really know' vague than an 'I don't want to say' vague. How did it go in the meeting?"

"Fine," Tony shrugged. "It was similar to last time, to be honest – we watched sport on TV, we played a couple of games of pool, we played poker and we drunk beer."

"Infidels," Kate teased.

"Yeah," Tony grinned. "We did talk a little about politics, but I kept pretty quiet so I didn't say the wrong thing. It was more like a boy's night in than a business meeting. Do you want to go out to dinner again?"

"No," Kate yawned, shaking her head. "Not unless you want to. I'm tired."

"Take-out it is then. Any preference?"

"You pick, I'm going to have a bath," Kate replied, getting to her feet and heading for the bathroom. "Can you put that baby stuff on my bed? I'm going to send it to my sister. My nephew will get more use out of it than our imaginary baby. Remind me tomorrow to put it in the post."

Tony scooped Kate's bags up off the table and carried them into her room, dropping them onto the bed. He looked around, wondering how Kate managed to keep the place so tidy. His room was already a tip. It was beyond him how anybody could have the self discipline to pick things up off the floor and put them in cupboards – let alone put not drop on the floor at all.

"DiNozzo, did you have a bath?" Kate yelled.

Tony frowned. She said that like he'd done something wrong, but he didn't see how. He hadn't been able to get the shower to run properly, so he'd had a bath instead. It wasn't like he'd flooded the bathroom or anything.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well far be it from me to discourage this all too rare display of male personal hygiene, DiNozzo, but next time you decide to have a bath do you think it's entirely possible that you rinse your scum off the side of the tub? And pull the plug out, will you? I am not putting my hand in your dirty bathwater. When's the last time you washed? I mean, properly washed, with soap? Because from the state of the bathtub anybody would think it was when you opened that plague letter. Which it probably was. And where _are _you?"

"In your room," Tony called.

Kate tutted loudly.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked, approaching the open bedroom door.

"Nothing," Tony said, stepping outside.

Kat glanced around quickly, as if to check he hadn't done anything terrible, before meeting his eye and glaring at him and leading him into the bathroom.

"Get rid of that water," she ordered, pointing at the bath. "Then disinfect it or something. Alright?"

"Slave driver," Tony moaned, tugging the chain of the plug and watching while the water disappeared.

Several minutes later, he was in the middle of the non-too-pleasant task of rinsing the dirt away from the side of the tub. He could understand why Kate didn't want to do it – it wasn't even her dirt. Maybe she was right; maybe he should wash more thoroughly. He had never thought he was particularly dirty, in fact, he considered himself to be very hygienic, but there was an awful lot of dirt on the tub…

"DiNozzo, I'm taking the trash out, alright?" Kate called, and Tony waved a thumbs-up in the general direction of the open bathroom door.

Tony squirted a bottle of bleach at the bath and zig-zagged it across the tub in a wavy sort of pattern, before tugging the hand-held shower free from the side of the tub and washing the bleach away. Not the most thorough cleaning job in the world, but Tony couldn't summon up the energy to do it properly. He was only using bleach in the first place because Kate would be sure to notice if he didn't, and he didn't want to face her wrath when she got back from putting the rubbish out. Admittedly, he put a lot more effort to rinsing the bleach out of the tub than he had in any other part of the so-called 'cleaning' he was doing, but that was because he had once been witness to a disastrous chemistry experiment in the sixth grade, and had seen just how much damage bleach could do. As much as Kate got on his nerves sometimes, especially when she made him clean out bathtubs, he didn't think she deserved to bathe in a tub that had bleach all over it. Not today, at least. Maybe by the end of this operation he'd change his mind. Though he had to admit, although he and Kate had made their feelings about living together perfectly clear from the beginning of this assignment, living with Kate was probably the best part of it. Except now, when she was making him clean up after himself. That was mean.

She was cleaning up too, though. And it really wasn't fair to expect her to clean a bath coated in his own dirt. Tony turned off the shower and headed back into the living room, content that Kate wouldn't be able to find fault with his bath-cleaning techniques. He went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, and saw the recycling bin next to the empty trash can. Kate would probably be back in a minute to take that outside too. Tony knew that really he should step up and be all chivalrous and take the recycling down so Kate didn't have to make two trips, but he couldn't quite bring himself to go all the way downstairs. He sipped on his water, glaring at the bin, feeling increasingly guilty about making Kate do all the legwork. She had been walking around all day, carrying heavy shopping bags and wearing nasty spiky shoes that looked to Tony more like instruments of torture than anything else, and if it wasn't for him and his dirt she would be in a bath right now. And she did say her feet hurt… Tony sighed heavily and dropped the empty glass into the sink, dragging the recycling bin across the room and out of the apartment.

"What are you doing?" Kate asked, as Tony stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor.

"Bringing this out," Tony grumbled. "It kept sitting there, looking at me, making me feel guilty."

Kate blinked at him.

"Okay," she said, stepping back to allow him to walk across the lobby and out into the street, turning and following him.

"I'm being nice," Tony pointed out. "I felt bad making you come all the way back up to fetch this and then come all the way down again."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," Tony groused. "Just don't expect me to do it again. I might be feeling generous tonight but I'm not going to turn into some kind of house-husband. I'm not going to clear up after myself. I like mess and I like clutter, it makes me feel at home."

"Because you're a slob," Kate smiled, sitting on the step outside the door and watching Tony struggle with the recycling.

"Excuse me, Miss Politically Incorrect, what did you just call me?" Tony taunted, abandoning the recycling and joining Kate on the steps.

"Alright, domestically challenged," Kate shrugged. "The point is, your living habits are worse than those of cave people, and I know that's not going to change over the next three months – God knows I've spent the last couple of years trying to instill some sense of neatness and order into you but it hasn't worked and I don't expect a miracle to happen in the next few week – but I'm not going to live in a pigsty so you'd better clear up after yourself."

"Hello? Didn't I just bring out the recycling for you?"

"Didn't you leave a ring of dirt round the side of the bath an hour ago?" Kate retorted, wrinkling her nose.

Tony made a face but didn't really have a response to that that wouldn't just prove Kate right, so he kept quiet. He wasn't normally a big fan of peace and quiet, but sitting outside on the steps to the apartment was quite nice. There was nobody around, just the occasional jogger or passer by, and the trees gave some shade. It was fairly cool now – the heatwave that had been stifling them since they arrived seemed to be coming to an end – and the sun was going in which made everything seem still and peaceful.

"It's getting cold," Kate observed, rubbing her arms which were smattered with goosebumps.

"I bet I know a way to warm you up," Tony replied, grinning manically and leaning in towards Kate.

"Yeah," Kate snorted. "I bet you do. Pig."

"It's fun," Tony said, leaning right in close so that his nose was inches away from Kate's. "You'll like it."

"Stop it," Kate protested, pushing Tony away from her. "I don't want too, it's… I can't."

"Can't? It's dead simple," Tony grinned. "You've done it before. Little bit of moving, little bit of touching, little bit of yelling..."

"DiNozzo, stop it! Get out of my face."

"Fine," Tony shrugged, finally moving away from Kate and leaning back against the steps. "Freeze then, see if I care. I don't see why you're making such a fuss though. It's just one itty bitty game of Tag."

Kate stared at him, her eyes wide.

"Tag?" she asked.

"Yes, Tag. As in, if you get tagged you have to chase the other person. Commonly played in school playgrounds. Ages five and up, minimum two players."

Kate turned away and propped her chin in her hands in an attempt to stop Tony seeing how red she'd gone.

"Oh," she muttered. "Right."

"Why?" Tony grinned. "What did you think I was talking about, Katie?"

"Nothing," Kate said, fidgeting under Tony's gaze. "Go away."

"Nope. And you say _I'm_ the one with the dirty mind. My my. Frankly, I think it's disgusting that your horribly warped little mind can think such perverted thoughts about a children's game. It's outrageous. You should get help. Maybe see a therapist. You clearly have an unhealthy obsession with --"

"Oh, shut up, DiNozzo," Kate moaned, pushing him lightly. "You did it on purpose, don't turn it on me."

"There is, of course, another explanation," Tony said. "One that is equally disturbing but far more easily solved."

"And what might that be?"

"You just haven't had any action for far too long and you quite simply need to get laid."

"Oh…" Kate groaned, batting at Tony with her hand and shaking her head. "Go play in traffic."

Tony grinned.

"No denial," he pointed out. "I'm right."

Kate reached out a hand and slapped him – not exactly lightly – on the back of his head. Tony winced, and glared at Kate, pouting like a little boy.

"Hey!" he whined. "I'm telling Gibbs, you can't hit me!"

"Tag," Kate shrugged, jumping to her feet and sprinting down the steps before Tony could exaggerate a head-slap into some sort of brain-damage-inducing assault. Granted, playing Tag in the middle of a street, albeit an empty one, was verging on immature, but if it would shut Tony up _and_ keep her warm, Kate was willing to sacrifice a little dignity. Kate did have a tiny head-start, having legged it before Tony realized what was happening, but as Tony had pointed out before, he was the faster runner. Kate was quick, but Tony's longer legs covered the ground more quickly than hers did. She could dodge and swerve more quickly though, being so much lighter and having a smaller stature, and she made it to the end of the street before Tony grabbed her elbow.

"Tag!" he called, charging past her and heading round the corner as fast as he could go.

Kate gasped and took off after him, determined not to let him win. Fortunately, Tony was approaching the corner and had to slow down so he didn't go charging into the wall or fall flat on his face. He had slowed to the same pace as Kate now, which gave Kate the advantage because she didn't need to slow down as much to turn. She ran as fast as she could to catch up to him, knowing that if they rounded the corner and he got on the straight again she'd have no chance of catching him because her legs simply wouldn't go as fast as his.

"Tag!"

Tony spun round as Kate tapped his shoulder blade, ready to grab her before she moved out of the way, but she ducked. Tony lunged forwards, expecting to come into contact with her arms or her body, but she wasn't there. Before he could regain his balance, he had fallen forwards and was lying on the ground, while Kate howled with laughter somewhere above his head.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, tears running down her face as she squealed and clutched her sides. "You're such a loser!"

Tony scowled. His pride hurt more than anything else, and it didn't help that Kate found the whole incident so funny.

"It's not funny," he muttered, picking himself up and dusting bits of gravel from his palms. "I could be seriously hurt."

That seemed to make Kate laugh all the more, and Tony could only thank his lucky stars that they were in the middle of an empty residential street and not, say, the Louvre or underneath the Arc de Triomph, where it would be pretty much guaranteed that his humiliation would captured for all eternity on the camcorder of a Japanese tourist. He straightened himself up and stalked off back towards the building, trying to gather as much dignity as he could while limping slightly. He had to admit, if he wasn't so embarrassed, he'd be laughing as much as Kate. Two grown adults, chasing one another round the street, until one of them fell over, was the kind of thing that appealed to his sense of humour – at least, it did when he wasn't the one falling over.

"Are you alright?" Kate asked, as they re-entered the apartment and Tony sat on the sofa, grimacing at the pain in his leg.

"I'm fine," Tony muttered. As if it wasn't bad enough that Kate had witnessed his humiliation, he didn't need her fussing all over him.

"Your trousers are all torn," Kate pointed out, kneeling down by Tony's legs and peering at the dusty, slightly ripped left knee. "I think you cut yourself."

Before Tony could protest, she had taken him by the arm was dragging him into the kitchen.

"Sit on there," she ordered, gesturing to the counter top. Tony hopped onto the counter top, and Kate rolled the trouser leg up. Tony winced as her fingers brushed his knee.

"Sorry," Kate said, not sounding it in the least. She peered at Tony's knee, which was cut and bloodied just as she had predicted. Catching sight of his grazed knee, Tony let out such a pitiful little whimper that Kate actually looked up at him with genuine concern. "What?" she asked.

"Look at my poor knee!" Tony said, his bottom lip trembling.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Don't be pathetic," she said. "You said you were fine earlier, and by now it should hurt less. All that's changed is that you can see it now, and there's no correlation between what you can see and what you can feel. It doesn't hurt anymore now that it did when you said you were fine."

"It does!" Tony protested.

Kate gave him a scathing look before retrieving a clean white cloth from the cupboard. She wet the cloth at the tap and held it out, ready to wipe Tony's knee clean of blood, but Tony whimpered and covered his injury with his hands.

"Don't!" he yelped.

"DiNozzo, you can't leave it like that," Kate sighed. "It's just water, I promise not to hurt you."

"Really?"

"Yes. Move your hands."

Tony pouted, but slowly moved his hands away and allowed Kate access to his knee. He gazed suspiciously at her, but Kate was gentle and didn't touch the actual cut, just dabbed the blood away from round the edges. She threw the bloodied cloth into the sink, and Tony made to get down from the counter, but she pushed him back and fetched a bottle of Dettol spray from the side of the sink.

"What are you doing with that?" Tony asked warily, as Kate sprayed it liberally onto some cotton wool and glanced at his knee. "You aren't coming near me with that stuff."

"I'm only going to clean it."

"No, you're not. You just cleaned it. That's disinfectant! You put that on kitchen surfaces!"

"Yeah, because it kills germs. It's fine, DiNozzo, you can use it on cuts as well. I use it all the time when I get scrapes and cuts at work."

"Does it hurt?"

Kate shrugged. "A little bit," she said, and Tony looked panicked. "It doesn't hurt much. Hold still."

Tony bit his lip, holding his leg out for Kate. She dabbed the cotton wool onto the scrape, and Tony yowled, yanking his leg away and grabbing it.

"Ow!" he yelled, peering at his leg as if to make sure Kate hadn't made it worse. "You said it would only hurt a little bit!"

"Well duh," Kate muttered. "I'm not thick – you'd never let me near you if I'd told you the truth. Keep still, I'm not done."

"Sadist," Tony accused, reluctantly offering his knee up to Kate's attention again.

Kate dabbed at Tony's knee again, tutting as he wailed and squirmed. "Don't be such a baby!" she ordered. "It's not that bad!"

"It is!" Tony wailed. "It is! You're hurting me! I can't believe you put this stuff on _yourself_."

"You know, for a federal agent, you don't have a very high pain tolerance. My six-year-old niece made less fuss than you when I did this to her."

"Your six-year-old niece didn't have a giant gash in her knee," Tony muttered, trying to defend himself.

"It's a graze, not a gash, don't be so over-dramatic. And for your information, my niece had the remains of a broken glass window stuck in her elbow. It was decidedly worse than your pathetic little scratch. We had to go to A and E."

"Before or after you got your hands on her?" Tony retorted, and immediately wished he hadn't as Kate dabbed the disinfectant-soaked cotton wool into his knee decidedly harder than was necessary. He yelped out a string of profanities, which did nothing but prolong his pain because Kate paused in her torture of his poor knee and stared him in obvious shock.

"DiNozzo!" she gasped, clearly horrified.

"What?" he asked, defensively.

"My mother would have washed my mouth out with soap if I ever said anything like that!"

"Well I didn't say it to my mother, did I? I said it to you. And if you come near me with soap, I swear to God, I will beat you up. Can I go now?"

"No," Kate replied. "And the more you wriggle, the longer it's going to take. I have to make sure all the germs are dead."

"It would be a whole lot quicker and less painful if you'd just fire a bullet in there," Tony protested, but Kate ignored him and just sprayed more disinfectant on his wound.

Tony gave a sigh of relief when Kate threw the cotton wool away, and, with Kate's comment about six-year-old little girls still fresh in his mind, he only whimpered a tiny little bit when Kate smeared antiseptic cream over the cut and stuck a plaster on – the very fact that the graze was small enough to be covered by a plaster ought to have given Tony some perspective, but it didn't.

"There," Kate said, putting the plasters away in the cupboard and washing her hands. "You can go."

Tony limped out of the kitchen as fast as he could, before Kate changed her mind and did something else horrifically painful to him. He flopped down on the sofa, Kate beside him, and was pleasantly surprised when Kate indulged his whining that he couldn't move his leg by propping his foot up on a cushion. He had to order the food, because Kate didn't speak French, but she did fetch him the phonebook and the phone so all he had to do was order.

That night, after they'd gone to bed and Kate had fallen asleep, Tony tapped on the wall above his bed.

"Kate," he hissed. "Kate. Kate? Kate! Kate? Kate. Kate. KATE!"

In the room next door, Kate shot up in bed and gasped. She glanced around for a couple of seconds, confused.

"Kate!"

"DiNozzo?" Kate whispered, unsure entirely why she was whispering when nobody in the apartment was asleep but doing it all the same. "What is it?"

"You awake?"

"No," Kate retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "This is a dream."

"Oh. Erm, Kate? You are awake, right?"

"I am now," Kate hissed. "What do you want?"

"I'm just reminding you to put the stuff in the post for your nephew."

Kate rolled her eyes.

"Thanks DiNozzo, that's really helpful. I said remind me _tomorrow_."

"It is tomorrow. It's quarter to one."

"Yeah, well, something tells me we missed the last post."

"But if I forget to remind you to when I wake up you'll be mad."

"Don't you think I'm madder that you woke me up at quarter to one to tell me?"

"Oh. Sorry. I just didn't want you to forget."

"Thank you DiNozzo. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"If you want."

Kate shook her head and sighed, pulling the duvet up over her shoulders and closing her eyes. She was just drifting back to sleep, when the same hushed tones woke her up again.

"Kate, are you mad at me?"

"No," Kate groaned. "I will be if you don't shut up and let me sleep, though."

"Sorry."

Kate lay awake for a couple of minutes, in case Tony found something else he urgently had to say, but there was only that still, quiet silence that you only get at night. She shut her eyes, ready to go back to sleep, but then Tony tapped the wall again.

"Kate?"

"Yes?"

"I was thinking, you could keep that baby stuff for your own baby."

"I don't have a baby, DiNozzo."

"You will, though."

"DiNozzo…" Kate growled, pulling a pillow over her head so she could drown out his voice. "I am not going to have a conversation with you in the middle of the night about _anything_, let alone the logic of keeping baby clothes for a child who right now is nothing but a bunch of half-complete cells inside my ovaries. Now shut up and let me go to sleep."

"Sorry. Hey, Kate?"

"WHAT?"

"Sophia was right, you know."

"DiNozzo, it's one am. I am exhausted. I want to go to sleep. If you have something to say, say it. Don't go all cryptic – I have neither the energy nor the inclination to decipher all your crap and work out what you're saying. If you have a point, make it. Quickly, before I come in there and shoot you to get a little peace and quiet. Sophia was right about what?"

"You're going to have beautiful kids someday."

Kate's eyes went round, and all the frustration she felt at Tony for waking her up disappeared completely. Sure, he was a total moron sometimes, but he couldn't really help that, could he? He was only male – you had to make allowances. And he was sweet sometimes. Like now. Very sweet indeed.

"Thanks, Tony," Kate whispered, resting her head on her arm and closing her eyes.

"Welcome."

"You'll have beautiful kids too. You probably already do, actually, but you know… if you can ever find a woman crazy enough to stick with you, you'll be a father to some cute kids. Thick as two short planks, what with your genes and whatever woman's daft enough to marry you, but gorgeous."

"I love you too, Kate," Tony laughed, and Kate smiled.

"That was a compliment," she pointed out.

"Night Kate."

"Night Tony."


	6. Chapter 6

I know, I know, I'm a terrible updater. I'm sorry. I just don't have any time! I'll try to do better next time. Anyway, thank you to everybody who reviewed, you rule xxx.

Oh, and there's a little bit of Jibbs in this chapter (and I think about a sentence of McAbby, if that), but there will be more in later chapters. Probably not the next one, but maybe the one after that.

Enjoy!

* * *

Kate perched on the counter in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal and watching Tony trying – and failing – to blow malteasers into the air. She would have lost patience with him a long time ago, if it hadn't been for the fact that when he'd got up he'd offered to take her out for the day. They didn't have to do anything work-related today, so Stefan and his family could be safely pushed to the backs of their minds while they actually did something enjoyable.

"So where are we going later?" Kate asked, swinging her legs and smiling. The idea of a stress-free day was incredibly appealing, and although Kate was generally of the opinion that any day with Tony wasn't _entirely_ relaxing, it was certainly a vast improvement on yesterday.

"I'll take you on a tour of Paris. Up the Eiffel Tower, to the Moulin Rouge – and all that jazz," Tony said with a grin.

"Your wit never fails to astound, DiNozzo," Kate remarked, as she watched Tony perform what she guessed was an attempt at a jazzy little wiggle but looked, to be frank, more like a long-suffering worm taking it's final, desperate breaths.

"It's a gift."

"Of course it is," Kate said with a roll of her eyes.

Tony munched on a couple more malteasers, before returning to his game of blowing them into the air and catching them in his mouth. He'd managed to successfully catch twelve in a row, with a few dozen failures beforehand, and he was beginning to think he'd finally got the hang of it.

"DiNozzo," Kate sighed, checking her watch, "You've been doing that for twenty minutes, when can we leave?"

Tony flicked a malteaser into his mouth and blew it towards Kate. It landed with a splash in her coffee, sending dark brown droplets of hot liquid flying out of the mug.

"Ow!" Kate yelled, putting the coffee mug down and wiping the hot coffee off her neck. "DiNozzo!" Tony grinned sheepishly, munching on another malteaser. "You're disgusting," Kate muttered, peering into her coffee mug and pouring the liquid down the sink, shaking the half-melted malteaser out of the mug with a frown. "I can't believe you just spat in my coffee."

"I didn't spit in your coffee," Tony said, as he leant back in his chair. "I blew a malteaser at you. It just happened to land in your coffee. That's completely different from me coming up to you, taking your cup and spitting in it."

"You're still a pig," Kate retorted, folding her arms and scowling at him.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me," Tony taunted, going back to his task of blowing malteasers into the air.

"You're such a child!" Kate snapped, glaring at him.

"You're such a child!" Tony repeated, copying Kate's face and posture.

"DiNozzo!"

"DiNozzo!"

"Stop it!"

"Stop it!"

Tony swallowed nervously as Kate took a step towards him, and he tried to smile innocently. Remembering that his 'You're not mad at little old me, are you?' face never seemed to work on Kate, he switched quickly and did his best to look cute and remorseful. He stuck his bottom lip out as far as it would go and widened his eyes, doing his best puppy-dog impression. It may not be a very convincing look – it hadn't worked when he was five, and he figured that if it didn't convince people when he had ringlets and only reached their knees, it probably wouldn't be convincing now – but it did have a certain novelty factor that seemed to make people laugh and forget to be angry with him. Generally it worked with women when he forgot something important, but it was worth a try now. Hell, when Kate had that look on her face, anything was worth a try.

The phone hanging on the wall behind Kate rang loudly, and they both froze for a moment in surprise. Then Kate sighed heavily and stepped aside so Tony could pick up, sitting at the table and resting her chin on her hand. It was obvious who was on the phone – Stefan and NCIS were the only people who had that number, and NCIS only contacted them on the computer or on their cell phones. For the first time in her life, Kate actually hoped that there would be a telemarketer on the end of the line. As far as she was concerned, fending off bored college students who were trying to convince her that she really _could_ save money if she bought something she didn't want from them instead of someone else, was preferable to whatever it was Stefan wanted. Unfortunately, from the way Tony was listening intently and chatting away in French, Kate was pretty sure it was Stefan. She sighed, feeling all the anger drain out of her and be replaced with a heavy sense of gloom. She had known right from the start that she was going to have to deal with Stefan while she was here, and she'd prepared herself for that, but now she felt like she hadn't been prepared at all. She wasn't prepared for _Stefan_. The very thought of him gave her goosebumps. Not because she knew what he was capable of or because she knew what he would do to her and Tony if he were to discover the truth, but because when she thought of him she thought of two separate people. She simply couldn't connect the files on her bedside table to the man that she had met, but there was still something about him that made her skin crawl. Whenever she flicked through the files that she already knew by heart, the picture in her head was still the faceless shadowy figure that she'd had before she had met Stefan. He disorientated her, she never knew quite where she stood with him when he was around, and the very fact that she was so confused by him made him scarier than anything she could read about in the NCIS archives.

Tony hung up the phone, and Kate looked up at him.

"Was that Stefan?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tony sighed, hanging the phone back on the hook and sitting down opposite Kate. "He wants us to go to some golf club with him tomorrow."

Kate sighed heavily and leant forwards over the table, folding her arms and resting her chin on them. There was quiet for a long time – Kate guessed from Tony's glazed look that he was thinking about something, but she didn't know what. Reluctantly, Kate dragged her gaze away from the wooden surface of the table and locked her eyes onto Tony's.

"Can we go now?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tony nodded, getting to his feet. "Come on."

---

Paris, Kate decided, was one of her favourite places in the world. It had been raining for three hours straight, and the sky was grey and the streets were crowded with people rushing for shelter and jostling past one another to get to a taxi, and it smelt like oil and petrol from all the traffic that was gridlocked, and every second step Kate took landed her either in a puddle or got her feet trodden on, but even through all this, it still managed to be beautiful.

"I'm going to come back here one day," Kate announced as they left the café they had gone into for shelter several hours earlier and had wound up eating lunch in, grabbing Tony by the hand and pulling him over to a bench on a grassy area a little way off the pavement. She sat down, tugging Tony down beside her, and swung her right foot up onto her left knee, trying to assess the damage to the boots she had plucked out of the wardrobe before they left the apartment. They were wet – soaking, in fact – and they had scuff marks all over them from walking through the packed side streets and being trodden on, and now that she had walked over wet grass they were a little muddy, but she didn't think they were ruined. She hoped not – they were nice.

"You're going to come back where?" Tony asked, moving along the bench so he didn't get mud from Kate's shoes on his trousers.

"Paris, duh," Kate muttered, dusting a partial footprint off the toe of her boot. "One day, when I don't have to come for work and I don't have to think about national security or pretend to be something I'm not."

"When's Gibbs going to give you enough time off work to do that?" Tony asked.

"Maybe he won't be my boss anymore – you might be team leader. Gibbs might have retired by then. He might go and sail off into the sunset on that boat and only dock once every three years in Hawaii to pick up his mail. Or he might fall in love with that redhead who works in the cafeteria and they'll elope to Canada and get married, have dozens of little red-headed children, and take over the world with their own little army of ginger Gibbs's. Or, and this is by far the most likely option, you might finally drive him over the edge and he'll be taken away by men in white suits and locked up in a padded cell for the rest of his days. One way or another, Gibbs isn't going to be around forever – he's going to retire and then, God help up us all, _you're_ going to be team leader."

Tony snorted. "Gibbs won't retire," he laughed, shaking his head and sending droplets of rain flying into Kate's face.

Kate made a face at him, wiping the water from her eyes. "No?"

"No. We'll come into work one morning, starbucks will have shut down over night, Gibbs will have killed himself at his desk, and then the world will end. It's the modern-day Armageddon."

"Yeah," Kate laughed.

"Want to dance?" Tony asked suddenly.

Kate blinked.

"Dance?"

"Yeah."

Tony leapt to his feet, grabbing Kate by the hand and spinning her around before she could protest. She squealed, sliding a little on the slippery ground, and grabbed at Tony to keep her balance. Tony grinned and swung Kate around, tipping her over backwards and twirling her around.

"DiNozzo!" Kate laughed, trying to struggle against Tony's grip but not willing to struggle too hard in case he did let go when she least expected it and she landed on her ass in the mud. "DiNozzo, stop it!"

Tony grinned, seizing Kate by the waist and spinning around in a circle. He burst into a loud, cheerful, only slightly out of tune version of 'Singing in the Rain', dragging Kate in circles around the bench. Tony stumbled, his feet sliding out from under him, and they both landed on the floor.

"You are such a loser!" Kate protested, squirming in disgust as the slick, wet ground squelched against her neck and Tony grinned from his position on top of her, where he had conveniently landed. "Get off, you're crushing me!"

Tony laughed, wiping his muddy hands on Kate's coat and lifting himself up. In retaliation, Kate wiped the mud from the back of her neck and threw it towards Tony, hitting him in the face with it. Tony froze for a moment, then grinned and scooped up a handful of grass and mud from the ground. Kate squealed and turned to run away, but Tony caught her before she could move and pushed the dirt down the back of her coat and sweater.

"Bastard!" Kate squeaked, thrashing free of Tony's grip and reaching down to the ground to grab her own handful of dirt. She giggled as Tony ducked away, and she pushed her filthy hands into to back of his head, smearing the mud through his hair and down the back of his neck. Tony yelled, grabbing for Kate again and pinning her against himself while he pulled her coat open and poured a wet handful of sludge down the front of her top. "Oh!" she shrieked, wriggling desperately to get the cold mud off her skin but only succeeding in managing to shake it further down, so that it slid all the way down to her stomach. She broke free and kicked some more mud up at him, spraying his whole front with dirt and grass. Kate laughed, bending down and throwing another handful of mud in Tony's face.

"Truce!" Tony yelled, holding his hands up as Kate raised another handful of mud. "Truce!"

"Apologise," Kate ordered, trying to keep a straight face.

"I'm deeply sorry for getting mud all over you and, erm, for… whatever else I did that I should apologise for."

Kate nodded, looking down at her mud-covered self and grinning.

"We look like we just rolled in a pigsty," she giggled.

"Shall we take a raincheck on the Eiffel Tower?" Tony suggested, looking between the two of them and eyeing their mud-covered bodies while wiping his filthy hands down his equally filthy coat and succeeding only in smearing more dirt over both.

"I think that's quite possibly the best idea that ever crossed the mosquito-bite you call a brain," Kate agreed.

Tony headed back to the street, attracting some very strange looks from the rest of the passers-by who weren't expecting to see a grown man covered in mud walking down the streets of Paris. He seemed unfazed, and waved cheerfully at them.

"Oh, DiNozzo?" Kate called, hurrying after him.

"Yeah?"

Kate threw the mud at his head, hitting him square between the eyes, and smiled sweetly at him.

"Come on then," she said, stalking past him and heading down the street.

"But…" Tony spluttered, wiping his face clean and chasing Kate through the rain. "What about the truce?"

"Oh," Kate said, stopping and smiling up at Tony. "I'm sorry – I only agreed to a truce on the fight. That was for knocking me down. Now hurry up, I'm cold."

Tony pouted, but followed Kate.

"You're mean, you know that?" he said, trailing along behind her in the rain. "Meaner than Gibbs with a hangover."

Kate smiled, poking her tongue out at Tony and ignoring his complaints. He whined all the way back to the apartment, and it wasn't until Kate told him that if he wasn't quiet she'd knock him out that he actually shut up.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked, watching Kate go to and from the bathroom while he sat on the sofa – on a towel, because Kate didn't want him to ruin the furniture – and shivered in his wet, muddy clothes.

"Getting ready to have a bath," Kate replied, disappearing into the bathroom again.

Tony stared at the closed bathroom door incredulously. That was just great. Not only did Kate stake a claim on the bathroom first, she was going to spend several hours in the bath as well. That really, really wasn't fair. Tony's hair was plastered onto his face, he could barely move his facial muscles because of the thickness of the mud that had dried over them, and there was rain and grass all over his clothes. True, Kate was equally wet and muddy – if not more so – but while she would take an extraordinary amount of time getting clean, Tony would take ten minutes in the shower. So really, he should get to use the bathroom first. And how did one go about 'getting ready to have a bath' anyway? It wasn't rocket science. You turned the taps on, got undressed, turned the taps off and got into the tub. It wasn't that complicated. It certainly didn't require fifteen minutes preparation time.

"Kate!" Tony called, struggling to be heard over the noise of the taps running loudly in the other room. "KATE!"

Kate opened the door and glared at him, her dressed in nothing but a dressing gown that was tied securely around her waist. She was clasping the neck of it tightly closed, eyeing Tony warily.

"What?" she asked, suspiciously.

"How long are you going to be in there?" Tony said. "Because I'll only be ten minutes, and I'm freezing my butt off here."

"Well maybe if you would let me have a bath, you would get in here quicker," Kate suggested. "I'll only be five minutes." She closed the door again, and Tony sighed heavily. He should have known it would be his fault. He wouldn't be surprised if Kate spent three hours in there just to spite him – one thing he'd learnt from his parent's marriage was that rushing a woman was never a good idea, and that a female five minutes could go on indefinitely. Also never to get married, but that didn't seem to apply here.

"So," Kate said, sitting next to Tony on the sofa when they were both clean and warm and – in Kate's case, at least – fully dressed.

"So?" Tony asked, not moving his gaze away from the movie he was watching.

"So… what are we doing tonight?"

"Ordering pizza," Tony said firmly, taking a sip of his beer. "Watching a movie."

"Or…" Kate suggested.

"Or what?"

"Or we could go out."

"Or we could stay here and order a pizza and watch movies."

Kate scowled and glared at Tony, moving away from him and folding her arms over her chest. She didn't want to stay in tonight, especially to eat pizza and watch crappy movies that she'd either seen before or had no desire to see to begin with. Although she could just about admit to herself, if not DiNozzo, that sheltering from the rain in a touristy, over-priced restaurant for a couple of hours and then slinging mud at one another had actually been fun, it was not the kind of fun she had originally planned on having today and she intended to supply her poor, over-stressed brain with a more conventional type of entertainment before the day was over.

"You're already watching a movie now," Kate pointed out, glaring at Tony.

"So?"

"So! Can't we go out for dinner? Please?"

Tony sighed. If he said no, Kate would be pissed at him and he'd be in the doghouse for God-knows-how-long until she deigned to forgive him. On the other hand, if he said yes, she'd spend forever in the bathroom doing whatever it was that she did to her hair and then he'd have to go out and actually behave himself. He'd much rather stay in, where he could talk with his mouth full and lick his fingers clean without fear of being kicked out. And while it was all very well wining and dining in expensive restaurants now and then, he was a slob at heart and he was far more comfortable when he was in his natural environment.

"How about if we go to a bar?" Kate asked, trying to compromise with him.

"You want to go to a bar?" Tony repeated, incredulously. He had a hard time imagining Kate at a bar – he wouldn't have thought that getting drunk and listening to loud music while being crushed against a bar by throngs of people who are all yelling their orders would particularly appeal to Kate. He was vaguely aware of other kinds of bars – bars that Kate called classy, Abby called boring – but Tony had never been to any kind of bar other than the badly lit, slightly-odd-smelling ones that he had frequented in college. And based on his experiences, Kate in a bar was the last thing he'd ever pictured. Still, he liked bars a whole lot more than he liked restaurants, and if Kate wanted to go to one then who was he to stop her?

"What's wrong with me wanting to go to a bar?" Kate asked, visibly annoyed.

"Nothing. We can go to a bar if you want."

Kate nodded, tucking her legs underneath her and turning her attention to the TV screen. Tony breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that she didn't seem to be mad at him, and folded his legs on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Kate glared at him, and he obediently removed them and placed them firmly on the floor. He wouldn't normally move – in fact, he'd normally do exactly the opposite of what Kate wanted, just to wind her up. But, over the past few days, he had become painfully aware of the fact that while they were getting on well – most of the time – he was kind of walking on eggshells with Kate at the moment, until she got her head around the fact that they were living together. Things that, at home, would send Kate into an absolute fit, didn't get a reaction here, be it positive or otherwise. And then she kicked off about the most ridiculous things that she probably wouldn't even notice at home. Not that Tony didn't enjoy watching Kate throw a hissy fit over something he'd done while he denied all knowledge of whatever it was that had annoyed her – he did. But it was a far more enjoyable experience when Gibbs and McGee were there to share the brunt of Kate's fury, and Gibbs was present to force Kate to maintain some level of control. The consequences of pissing Kate off in the bullpen were generally no more serious than a slap to the back of the head from Gibbs and an hour or so of sarcastic remarks and dirty looks from Kate. Tony didn't know what the consequences were when he didn't have Gibbs to protect him, but he was willing to bet they were a lot more serious and would involve a lot more sucking up before he was forgiven. He fully intended to try to stay more-or-less on Kate's good side for as long as possible, and if that meant sacrificing his comfort to keep the furniture clean, then that was a price he was willing to pay.

"What is this, anyway?" Kate asked, sounding less-than-amused at the antics of the characters on screen. She reached for the DVD case, resting on the arm of the sofa. "'Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "DiNozzo, this film is for _children_."

"It's funny!" Tony protested, snatching the case back. "It's one of my favourite movies."

"Well, that explains a lot," Kate muttered.

"Have you ever even seen it?" Tony asked defensively.

"No. And I have absolutely no desire too – it's ridiculous."

"How do you know if you haven't watched it?" Tony shot back.

"You just said, it's one of your favourites," Kate retorted.

"Very funny. I bet Gibbs and McGee would like it."

"Well, of course, you three are men, it's full of completely unnecessary violence and it's supposedly got a beautiful woman in it. I'd say that puts it right up there in the male movie hall-of-fame."

"Supposedly beautiful? You don't think Jessica Rabbit is hot?" Tony asked, frowning quizzically at Kate.

"DiNozzo, Jessica Rabbit is a cartoon," Kate pointed out.

"So? She's a hot cartoon. She's --"

"2D?" Kate suggested.

"She is _hot_. Don't you think?"

"Not really."

"She is! Kate!" Tony protested.

"What? Don't ask for my opinion then moan at me for it! What do you want me to say, Jessica Rabbit is gorgeous? Okay, if she was a _real person_, but I fail to see how anyone can get any kind of attraction out of an animated character. It's like… finding a Barbie doll sexy. Only the perverted and the obsessive actually stoop to such desperate levels."

"Barbie is sexy!"

"Just proved my point, DiNozzo," Kate said, winking at Tony. Tony folded his arms in a gesture of defeat – Kate had won that one, fair and square, and he had no comeback that wouldn't just give her further ammunition or wind up with the two of them descending into another childish, repetitive quarrel. And, while he was all for winding Kate up with constant cries of 'am not!' to her 'are too!'s, he didn't want to get into that while the movie was on.

There was silence for a few minutes while they watched the film – with varying degrees of enjoyment, admittedly, but both watching. Kate shivered a little, her bare feet exposed on the sofa, and Tony wordlessly reached back and tucked the blanket off the back. He draped it over Kate's legs, making sure her feet were tucked securely under the cashmere, and wrapped a hand around one of Kate's feet, massaging it gently. Kate gave him a quick, grateful smile, and glanced at her watch.

"Do you know who Jenny is?" Tony asked, suddenly.

"Jenny who?" Kate replied, frowning. She was pretty sure she didn't know anyone called Jenny…

"Don't know," Tony shrugged. "I was at Gibbs' place a couple of weeks ago, going over files, and he was working on his boat so I took the opportunity to look around --"

"You mean go through his things."

"You make it sound like a bad thing. Anyway, he's got these letters from someone called Jenny. Seems they've got quite a correspondence going on."

"Love letters?" Kate questioned. She found it hard to imagine Gibbs writing love letters to anybody, and even harder to imagine a woman writing love letters to him.

"I think so…" Tony trailed off.

"You've never seen a love letter, have you, DiNozzo?" Kate said. "The most intimate you get is an explicit email before a date."

"Trust me, Kate, I get a lot more intimate than that," Tony grinned.

Kate wrinkled her nose and thumped Tony on the arm, probably harder than was entirely necessary. Typical – they got halfway into a serious conversation and he said something totally inappropriate.

"Maybe she's his high-school sweetheart," Kate said, reverting the topic of conversation back to something semi-respectable before Tony said something that was dangerously close to downright perverted and she ended up seriously hurting him. She wanted to go out, but a trip to the local A and E was not what she had in mind. "Are they new letters or old letters?"

"They're just letters," Tony shrugged. "I don't know."

"Men," Kate muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Women," Tony responded.

"_Men_," Kate repeated.

"Stressy women," Tony shot back.

"Hopeless men!"

"Crazy women!"

"Stupid men!"

"You!"

"You!"

"_You_!"

"You!"

Kate poked her tongue out at Tony and giggled, shaking her head affectionately when Tony crossed his eyes and growled in what was supposed to be an impression of a monster.

"Maybe," Tony said, his face lighting up like a cartoon, "They're from that redhead who appears every now and then!"

"Is she called Jenny?"

"I don't know… I'll get Probie to find out… do you think they're getting it on together?"

"Ew, DiNozzo."

Tony took great pleasure in leaning towards Kate and rolling his eyes, slowly and dramatically. Usually, Kate was the one doing the 'you're such an idiot' eye-roll, and he was glad he was getting the opportunity now.

"Alright," he said, sitting up again. "Do you think they're 'engaging in relations of a physical nature'?"

"Uh, firstly, please don't do that eye thing again unless you want me to get an ambulance, you looked like you were having a fit," Kate replied. "And secondly, I wasn't saying 'ew' to your choice of phrase, I was saying 'ew' at the idea of Gibbs… you know."

"Engaging in relations of a phy--"

"Yes, thank you, Tony."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I guess, just… he's Gibbs. It's kind of icky, don't you think? A bit like thinking about your parents doing it."

"My parents only did it once, to have me. They hated each other far too much to get near enough to touch one another without a weapon in their hands."

"I'm not surprised," Kate teased. "They probably blamed each other for the grand screw-up that is their son."

"You know," Tony said, folding his arms and pretending to look offended. "You are a very cruel person, Kate Todd."

"Only to you," Kate smiled, patting him on the leg and getting to her feet. "It makes you feel special."

"Are you getting ready to go out?" Tony asked, looking up from the TV screen.

Kate nodded, deliberately crossing in front of Tony instead of going around the back of the sofa, so she could block his view of the TV. It may be petty, but so was he, and it was fun. She went into the bedroom to change, Tony still watching the movie. Forty-five minutes later, Tony was seated at the other end of the sofa, dressed in clean clothes, fiddling with the remaining crust of the sandwich he'd just eaten. Kate had yet to appear from the bedroom, unless she had emerged in the ten minutes Tony was out of the room getting changed and had left without him, which Tony considered highly unlikely.

"Kate!" he called, throwing the bread crust into the air and catching it in his mouth. "Are you ready?"

"If I was ready I'd be out there, wouldn't I?" Kate replied.

"Well hurry up then!"

It took a further ten minutes before Kate finally emerged from the bedroom and announced that she was ready to go. Tony looked up, ready to launch into an argument about how long Kate always seemed to take to get ready, but he changed his mind when he saw her. She looked… well, hot, basically, but that wasn't it. She was an attractive woman, with or without the lipstick and the eyeshadow and the sparkly earrings. She always had been. It might be to do with the fact that her dress was pretty small – not miniscule or anything, but made of infinitely less fabric than anything she'd ever wear to work – but Tony doubted it. He'd seen that dress the other day, the first night they got here and went out to dinner. Kate in a dress wasn't something that wouldn't normally make him feel all funny. Kate in a bikini, maybe, but a dress? Dresses weren't that special. In fact, dresses, as far as Tony was concerned, were something that were required by law when you were in public but should be banned as an unnecessary hindrance when you were behind closed doors. He couldn't really explain why his stomach was doing flips now – in fact, he didn't have a clue – but he knew it wasn't just a natural reaction to seeing Kate all dressed up. He'd seen her dressed up countless times before – for dates after work (always with some guy who she wouldn't talk about, for some reason), for parties at Abby's, and, over the past few days, for dinners at posh restaurants with him and, more disturbingly, meetings with terrorists. She didn't look particularly special tonight – he'd seen her look prettier, to be honest – but there was something different that made him want to go closer, like a moth drawn to a bright lamp, and, at the same time, made him want to run away.

"Ready?" Kate asked, staring at him expectantly.

"Uh, sure," Tony nodded, grabbing his keys and wallet from the table and charging out of the door. "Erm, Kate?"

"Yes?"

"Well, um," Tony squirmed as Kate raised an eyebrow and stared at him. "You see, you… you look nice." Tony felt the heat in his cheeks as they burned red, and he stared at the floor so he didn't have to look at Kate.

"Really?" Kate asked, the disdainful expression leaving her face to be replaced by one of suspicion. "DiNozzo, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" Tony protested. "Just… you look really, um, nice. Pretty. So I thought I should tell you."

"Thanks, Tony," Kate smiled, surprise lacing her tone.

"You needn't sound so shocked about it," Tony muttered, as they walked out of the apartment building and made their way down the street.

"You've never told me I look nice before," Kate pointed out. "I just… never expected to hear it from you, of all people."

"Yeah, well, you do."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The awkwardness of the situation became too much for Tony, who stalked off down the pavement as fast as he could. Kate had to run to catch him, which was no mean feat in her high heels, and by the time she had caught up with him they were halfway to the bar. They walked the rest of the way in silence, strolling along side by side, and by the time they reached the bar the atmosphere had relaxed again.

It was a pretty decent bar – the kind where the music was loud enough that you could appreciate it but not too loud that you couldn't get a drink without hollering into the bartender's ear, and where the stools weren't made of horrible, hard wood that made your ass numb if you sat on them for too long but instead were covered with soft, squishy fabric that was actually a pleasure to sit down on – and despite the distinct lack of the smell of stale beer and no college-boy brawls, Tony found himself having a remarkably good time. Kate seemed to lighten up a lot, too, and went into full-on flirt mode when the bartender told them he was from Indiana, batting her eyelids and giggling at him. Tony was wary at first, glancing around to make sure nobody was there who would think it odd that his supposed 'girlfriend' was going all girly for someone else right under his nose, but when Kate's hair-twirling got both she and Tony a free drink, he forgot his early anxiety and went along with it. And when she plucked the glazed cherry out of whatever it was she was drinking and bit it in half, staring at the bartender and nodding like she was totally fascinated by what he was saying and completely unaware of what she was doing, earning them their second round of free drinks, Tony vowed to take Kate to a bar in Washington sometime.

Not long after they arrived at the bar, a man with dark hair and big eyes came up to Kate and asked her, in faltering but perfect English, if she'd like to dance with him.

"Do you mind?" she asked Tony, though it was more for appearances than anything else, just in case someone who shouldn't see, did see, and it put their cover at risk.

"Sure," Tony shrugged.

Kate handed him her drink, and Tony glanced at it with a bemused expression on his face.

"I've got a beer," he said.

"It's not for you to drink!" Kate exclaimed, flicking him in the forehead and rolling her eyes. "It's for you to guard."

She sashayed off with French Dude, swaying her hips and smiling as he led her round the dancefloor. Tony lightly rested his hand over the top of Kate's glass for protection, his beer sitting neglected beside it, and tapped the side of the bar nervously. He didn't like watching Kate dance with men, he decided, unless he knew them and he could be sure they weren't going to do anything to her. He was glad when Kate reappeared by his side, her cheeks slightly pink from the dancing and slightly out of breath, but otherwise fine.

"Did you have fun?" Tony asked, passing her drink back to her and watching her take a long sip. She nodded happily, perching herself on the bar stool beside Tony and straightening her dress.

As the evening wore on and Kate went from sober to tipsy, Tony found himself not drinking anything. He'd lost count of the cocktails and shots Kate had downed over the course of the evening, but he hadn't drunk more than two and half beers. Several times throughout the evening, a variety of different men approached Kate and asked her to dance – sometimes in English, sometimes in French, in which case Tony had to translate the first time – and Tony found that when she said 'no', which she did say, albeit rarely, he felt a deep sense of relief. He supposed his presence by her side fended off anyone who would have otherwise pushed when she declined, which made him feel proud and strong, though he would never admit it. When Kate did leave his side to dance, he invariably watched every move she made, and found himself seething with something that felt worryingly like jealousy every time she bobbed over to the dancefloor with another guy. Girls did ask him to dance – not as many guys as asked Kate, but a couple – but he always declined.

"You can go talk to her if you want to," Kate said, after a very attractive brunette made conversation with Tony but went away after a couple of minutes when he introduced Kate.

"What, and leave you here all by your poor little self?" Tony teased. "I don't think so. You never know what big bad men might come and start bothering you." He was only half joking – if he was entirely honest with himself, the only reason he wasn't dirty dancing with three girls at once right now was that he didn't want to leave Kate alone.

"Well next time I dance with someone, you can as well, deal? You won't be leaving me then, will you?" Kate suggested. She was having a great time, and Tony kept telling her he was too, but she couldn't help but notice that he wasn't drinking anything – he was still on his third beer, and it was practically full – he was guarding her drink as if it was a code for a nuclear missile, and he hadn't budged from his seat all night. She wasn't in the habit of spending nights out with Tony, but she had a sneaking suspicion that this was not how he normally behaved in a bar. And, to be honest, it made her feel a teeny bit guilty.

"You know what," Kate said suddenly, hopping down from her stool and dragging Tony off his. "We'll dance together."

"No --" Tony protested, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. Kate wasn't completely drunk, exactly, but she was definitely on her way.

"Why?" Kate demanded, hands on hips.

"What about your drink?" Tony asked, his eyesight falling on the glass of pink liquid sitting on the bar. "You can't just leave it."

"I'll get a new one," Kate shrugged.

"No," Tony said firmly. "I'll just stay and watch it."

Kate sighed heavily, frowning at him, and picked up the glass. Before Tony could say anything, she had downed the whole cocktail down in about five gulps and slammed the glass, now empty except for some crushed ice and a small collection of pink alcohol in the bottom.

"There you go," she said, tugging him onto the dancefloor.

Tony could barely believe Kate had just knocked back almost an entire cocktail in less than a minute. Either she was verging not only on 'drunk' but on 'smashed', or she could hold her alcohol better than anyone he'd ever met. Unfortunately, he guessed it was the first option. And he desperately hoped that it was the pressure that was getting to her to have made her get so utterly off her face and she didn't normally swallow vast quantities of alcohol when she was out in public, because otherwise he'd have to fire his maid and get her a bodyguard for when she went out.

When they finally left the dancefloor, Kate ordered another drink, and Tony hoped the bartender would tell her she'd had enough. He didn't, he just gave it to her without question. Tony would have been angry with him, but to be honest, if he didn't know Kate, he'd have given it to her as well. The thing was, she just didn't look drunk. She looked tipsy. But she was _acting_ drunk – drunk for Kate, at least.

It got later and later, and Tony repeatedly tried to get Kate to leave, but by this stage she was well and truly plastered and refused to do as he said. Short of grabbing her and forcibly dragging her out of the bar, which was likely to get the police called on him, he couldn't think of anything other than to wait until Kate decided to leave or the bar closed. Fortunately, the bartender was refusing to give her anymore alcohol, so she wasn't going to get even drunker. Whether or not that was possible, Tony wasn't sure, but he didn't really want to take the risk.

"Tony," Kate finally said, leaning forward and pouting. "I wanna go home."

'_Thank God'_, Tony thought to himself, sliding off his chair and taking Kate's arm.

Kate tripped over her own feet as she and Tony left the bar, stumbling on the pavement. In fact, she would have gone headlong into a large, and rather muddy-looking, puddle, had it not been for a grey-haired gentleman walking past with his wife, who caught her arm as she crashed past him. He righted her, making sure she wasn't about to topple over again, and held her elbow. He said something – which may have been friendly or may have been disapproving, Kate couldn't understand him and she was too out of it to be able to tell from his tone – and looked at Kate, clearly expecting an answer.

"Mademoiselle?" he pressed, obviously concerned about the glazed look in Kate's eyes and the total lack of response he was getting from her.

"Wha'?" Kate slurred, frowning at him. "I don't geddit… Tony, washesayin?"

Tony, who had followed Kate out of the bar, put one hand on her waist and apologized profusely in French. Kate blinked at him, gazing between him and the man, and frowned as the man spoke a few sentences to Tony, which Tony shook his head in response too.

"Kate," Tony said firmly, tapping Kate under her chin and looking into her eyes. "Please tell this man that we're living together and I'm not trying to take advantage of you because you're drunk."

"Yeah," Kate giggled, falling against Tony and sending him staggering back several feet as he struggled to regain his balance and support her weight without the both of them ending up on the floor. "I love him." She pressed her face into his shoulder, closing her eyes and sighing deeply. Tony wrapped his arm around her waist tightly, holding her up as she relaxed her knees and went limp against him. Tony spoke to the man for a minute or so longer, thanking him for his concern and assuring him that he wasn't going to drag Kate off into a side-street and beat her half to death. He couldn't be sure Gibbs wouldn't, if he saw her like this, but he didn't think that would do much to reassure the old gentleman, and it certainly wouldn't be conducive to his immediate plan of getting Kate home ASAP. When the man's concerns had been put to rest and he and his wife had strolled on, Tony took a couple of steps – or tried too – only to find that Kate was still hanging off him and wasn't showing any signs of actually moving.

"Kate," Tony said, realizing that Kate was half asleep on his shoulder in the middle of the street. "Kate, you have to move your feet."

He didn't get an audible response, but Kate shook her head and made a whining, keening sound of protest.

"Kate, do you wanna go sleep?" Tony asked, as if he was speaking to a small child and not a fully grown woman. Kate nodded her assent. "Well you can't sleep here, we've gotta go home. It's only a few minutes away, but you're gonna have to walk, okay?"

Kate lifted her head from Tony's shoulder and pouted up at him. Tony groaned – she must be totally off her face.

"Carry me," she half ordered, half pleaded, sticking her bottom lip out as far as it would go and gazing at Tony with wide, slightly-glazed but utterly endearing eyes.

Tony sighed, glancing at Kate and then down the street, as if to assess the distance and the toll that would take on his back. Mentally calculating that although carrying a drunken Kate back to the apartment might slow them down, it would probably be quicker than having the argument with her. He'd never win, anyway. It was pointless trying. Besides, if he was carrying Kate, she wouldn't be walking into lampposts or passers-by or moving cars and there was a much higher chance of them getting safely into the apartment.

"Come on then," Tony said, hoisting Kate up onto his back, piggy-back style, and making sure she had a tight grip on his shoulders without strangling him. "Gibbs is going to kill you, you know," he scolded lightly as he trudged down the street with Kate slumped over his shoulders. "He's going to be furious. And good luck trying to hide it from him, because I'm sure not covering for you. When he appears on that laptop screen tomorrow morning and you're hungover, he's going to notice. And when he does, he'll have a fit. And I, for one, am going to be taking cover in Australia."

He kept up this steady stream of chatter all the way to the apartment and into the elevator, sometimes getting a moan or a mumble from Kate in response, sometimes getting slurred, jumbled sentences that he couldn't fully understand, and by the time he stepped out of the elevator he was feeling very hard done by. He was no stranger to the whole 'escorting drunken females home' thing – he did it almost every weekend. Kate wasn't heavy, and although she was totally out of it, she wasn't the worst drunk he'd ever seen – he'd taken women home whose reaction to alcohol was to hurl abuse at everything and everyone they passed, from trash cans to shadows. Kate just giggled a lot, lost anything vaguely resembling the power of speech, and got all pouty and sleepy. And it wasn't as if it was the situation itself that was awkward – sure, having Kate drape herself all over him and pronounce to total strangers that she loved him was verging towards 'unacceptable' in the realm of co-worker relations, but it wasn't that big of a deal. Invariably, a young receptionist or secretary did the same thing at every Christmas party Tony had ever had the dubious pleasure of attending. Nor, even, was it the fact that the woman he was escorting tonight was not an excitable office temp but Kate Todd. He and McGee had been witness to the slightly unnerving spectacle of Abby and Kate getting drunk on mulled wine at a party at Ducky's last New Years, where both women had, at some point approaching midnight, lost the ability to detect the Average Joes from the Adonis's and, as the clock struck twelve, had grabbed the nearest male body and planted long, sloppy, alcohol-fuled kisses on their shocked, unsuspecting lips. McGee had hovered around Abby from eleven thirty onwards in the hope that he would be conveniently placed for a kiss, but she had ended up snogging poor Jimmy Palmer, who spent the rest of the party in a confused-looking trance. Kate's lucky fella had been Ducky's gardener - an awkward youth, who couldn't have been more than seventeen and had crooked teeth, and clearly lacked the social skills required to be anywhere other than his much-older bosses' party on New Years Eve. Neither Kate nor Abby remembered anything the next morning, and any hopes for pranks/blackmailing/embarrassing stories held by Tony and a jealous McGee had been quickly dispelled by some stern words from Ducky, before either woman emerged from their bedrooms and tried to recall the horrors of the previous night.

Tony's main objection to his current situation, as he bundled Kate through the door to their apartment and fumbled for the light switch, was that, invariably, carrying drunken women home involved some sort of payout for him. He always gained something from the whole thing – be it the woman herself deciding that his chivalry classed him as A Nice Guy and he got invited in, or if the both of them were just too drunk to realize what they were doing until they were half naked, and at that point, it was less hassle to just carry on. The fact of the matter was that Tony couldn't remember the last time he had taken a drunk girl home and not had sex with her. And he couldn't help but feel a little bit cheated out of his rightful prize for being so manly and noble as to carry Kate all the way back to the apartment.

"NiDozzo," Kate purred, as Tony deposited her on the sofa and ran his hand through his hair. "You're so pretty…"

"And you're so drunk," Tony replied, mimicking her soft, slurred tones and pulling her ridiculously high heels off her feet. "You need to drink some water. A lot of it. And then you need to brush your teeth and go to bed."

Kate erupted in a fit of high-pitched giggles.

"What?" Tony asked.

"You're bossy," Kate laughed.

"Sorry. But you do need to go to bed."

"Will you come with me?" Kate asked coyly.

"No," Tony said, shifting uncomfortably under Kate's accusing glare. Dammit, this was going to take some self-control. Breaking a ten-year-old habit was going to be incredibly difficult.

Kate rolled off the sofa, landing on the floor with a thud. Tony winced, but Kate just shook her head slightly, like a dog that's dunked its nose in its water bowl, and clambered awkwardly to her feet. She swayed slightly, taking a couple of steps to the side and leaning over like she'd just gotten off a roundabout, and stumbled into the side of the sofa.

"Oops."

She stepped backwards, looking down as she did so, and frowned. Tony tried not to laugh, but she looked for all the world like someone pondering the mysteries of the universe, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself guffawing at the sight of Kate deep in thought in the middle of the living room.

"I'm not wearing shoes," Kate said.

"I know," Tony said, taking her by the shoulder. "I took them off you."

"Whhhyyyyyy?" Kate whined, staring up at him with a pitiful look on her face. Tony was reminded of the ill-fated time he had taken his friend's son to the funfair and denied him candyfloss. He'd given in to that same face and voice that Kate was giving him now, and he had suffered the consequences of a vomiting child all the way home.

"Because you're going to bed, remember?"

Kate nodded, a flash of recognition passing over her features as she remembered what she was doing. She took a few steps forward, Tony guessed intending to go to her room, but she just walked straight into Tony. She grabbed at him to keep her balance, dragging them both onto the sofa. She giggled loudly again, grinning into his face as she clambered over so she was on top of him.

"You're pretty," she whispered in his ear, smiling widely in a huge, almost Tony-esque grin.

"You're drunk. We've had this conversation," Tony said, trying to get away from Kate.

Unfortunately, Kate did not seem to want to move, and as Tony was pinned under her, he didn't have much of a choice other than to stay put. Typical. The one time he got Kate in a position where he could well and truly tease her the next day, they were halfway around the world on a Very Important Mission and _someone_ had to be responsible. Clearly Kate was not going to be that person, tonight at least, and so the role of fun-spoiler fell to Tony. He was not in this position very often, and he wasn't sure how to handle it.

"But you're _cozy_," Kate garbled, wrapping her arms around Tony's neck and burying her face into the hollow between his neck and his chin. "And you're so so so so so so pretty."

"Okay," Tony said, untangling himself from Kate's arms and planting her arms firmly by her sides. "Drunk or not, if you call me pretty one more time, I'm going to have to reinforce my masculinity by thumping you in the face. It's handsome or it's hot. Not pretty. Got it?"

Kate mumbled something about masculinity that Tony didn't catch, which, he speculated, was probably a good thing, and slid her hands inside his shirt.

"Kate…" Tony warned, pulling her hands away from his chest and putting them back where they belonged. "You're drunk. Part of me _really _doesn't want to say no to you right now, but --"

"S'okay," Kate reassured him, a glint in her eye as she rested her hand on the zipper to Tony's trousers, "Y'only need one part."

Tony choked on his own words. "Kate!" he barked, when he'd recovered. "You're drunk. In the morning, you are so going to regret drinking that amount of whatever the hell it was you drunk back there, and I for one do not want to be the one you blame when you have this to regret as well. So… so shut up and get off me and go to bed. _Alone_… Kate. Kate. Kate?"

Tony looked down at his chest, to find that Kate had fallen asleep. Her cheek was pressed against his shirt, her eyelashes looking like dark smudges against her pale skin, and she was breathing deeply and softly. Tony sighed. Absolutely fantastic. Now he was stuck underneath her for as long as it took her to move – if he moved her himself she'd be bound to wake up, what with his luck tonight, and then he'd have to go through the whole event again. And he wasn't sure how much self-control he had left. Especially if she was going to keep talking to him with that little lisp she developed as some sort of reaction to alcohol.

Kate murmured something in her sleep, snuggling her face closer to Tony's chest, and he sighed, shifting slightly so her arm wasn't pinned against the back of the sofa.


	7. Chapter 7

Hi everyone! Here's the next chapter (wow, an update that didn't take three weeks! I hope you're all suitably impressed!) There's some McAbby in this chapter that I didn't actually mean to put in it just kind of... appeared. Oh well.

Anyway, let me know what you think! xxx

* * *

Tony shifted slightly as he opened his eyes, grimacing at the strong smell of alcohol that was lingering under his nose. He gazed at Kate in utter confusion for a couple of seconds, before the events of the previous night flooded back to his memory. Tony sighed heavily, easing one arm out from underneath Kate, who was still sprawled on top of him, and rubbed his head. Waking up, hangover free, from a night in a bar was something he'd never experienced before – an experience he suspected, with a twinge of sympathy, that Kate would not be sharing. Kate sighed a little in her sleep, and it suddenly struck Tony that Kate Todd was snuggling with him. He was lying on the sofa, with a crick in his neck and a sore back, and Kate was lying on his chest… snuggling. The fingers on her left hand were clasped around his shirt, like a child clinging to a security blanket in their sleep, and her feet were tucked between his lower legs. Her hipbones were digging him in the stomach and Tony could feel her ribcage expanding and deflating against his own as she took the deep, slow breaths of one who is entirely dead to the world. Her nose was pressed into the pulse of his neck, and her hair was tickling his chin, but Tony daren't move in case he disturbed her. The only thing scarier than having Kate snuggle with him would be Kate waking up and _realizing_ she was snuggling with him. If that were to happen, Tony thought, he may as well just kill himself right now and save Kate the effort of moving. 

"Uuunnnggghh." Kate half-raised her head with a groan, before immediately dropping it back onto Tony's neck with a thud. She raised one arm and rested it over the back of her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "Oooww," she whimpered, her voice croaky and hoarse.

"Morning to you too," Tony said, flashing Kate a smile.

Kate gave a half-hearted 'shh' at his words, and Tony made a face at her.

"You want to know the DiNozzo cure for a hangover?" he offered, propping himself up on his elbows. "You take two slices of bread, four slices of bacon, three eggs, some cheese and two sausages --"

"Don't," Kate pleaded, grimacing into Tony's chest and swallowing thickly.

"Then you make it into a sandwich and add ketchup, mayo and barbecue sauce --"

Kate rolled onto her side and threw up violently, splashing Tony with vomit. She dropped her hand down and rested it lightly on her heaving stomach, gasping for air.

"That's nice, Kate," Tony muttered, peering at his shirt with a wince. "That's real nice." He wrinkled his nose, trying not to breathe in.

"Sorry," Kate mumbled, closing her eyes again.

Tony gently lifted Kate up, ignoring her slight whimper of pain, and slid out from underneath her. He pulled his shirt and trousers off, walking into the bathroom in his underwear. He re-emerged in his robe, to find Kate sprawled over the couch with a cushion over her head. Despite the fact that she had just thrown up on him (which, admittedly, was his own fault) he felt bad for Kate. Hangovers weren't fun. In Washington, in a rare display of concern, Gibbs had asked them – well, ordered them, Gibbs never asked anyone to do anything – to look after each other. Tony was pretty sure that allowing his partner to get so drunk she passed out on top of him and then had to deal with the world's worst hangover the next day (a day which was, incidentally, supposed to spent playing golf with Stefan) meant he had spectacularly failed any attempt at 'looking after'. Oh well – he'd just have to start now, and put in extra effort to make up for it.

He went to the windows, closing the curtains that had been left open last night. The room immediately darkened, making it hard for Tony to see, but Kate gave a small, grateful sigh. He crept into Kate's bedroom, glancing around at the cupboards and drawers. Uncertainly, he headed for the closet and peered inside. He found a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, and took them to Kate.

"Kate," Tony whispered, crouching down beside the sofa and offering her the clothes. "Get changed."

Kate peeked out from under the pillow, frowning, and Tony pushed the clothes at her. He was startled by the dark smudges under her eyes, before he realized they were not, in fact, after-effects if too much alcohol but rather the result of not taking off her make-up the night before. Kate hauled herself off the sofa with a wince and, touching her hand to her head, took the clothes off Tony and dragged herself into the bathroom. Tony went into the kitchen, re-emerging a couple of minutes later with a plate of toast and an orange broken up into segments. Kate was on the sofa again, her eyes closed.

"Are you awake, Kate?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Kate groaned, fluttering her eyes open.

"How do you feel?"

"Horrible," she whimpered in reply.

"Do you want some breakfast?" Tony asked.

Kate grimaced, shaking her head and looking nauseous. "I'd rather have some painkillers," she said, and Tony grinned, holding up a bottle of aspirin and shaking it gently. "God, I love you," Kate said, holding out her hand. Tony put the food down on the coffee table and shook a couple of pills into Kate's palm, handing her a glass of water. Kate swallowed the tablets, shooting Tony a grateful look.

"This is for you," Tony said, pushing the toast and orange towards Kate.

Kate shook her head, holding up a hand.

"No thanks," she replied. "Swallowing that aspirin made me want to throw up, so…"

"Trust me, Kate. It'll make you feel better. It's the best hangover cure there is."

"No," Kate moaned, burying her head in her arms. "I don't feel good."

"Yeah, well, if you don't eat it I'll call Gibbs."

Kate looked up, horrified. She did not want Gibbs to see her hungover. Especially when she was supposed to be working. Kate doubted that Gibbs would give much consideration to the pain in her head when he was yelling at her, and she certainly didn't expect any sympathy from him. Reluctantly, fixing Tony with the best death-glare she could manage under the circumstances, Kate allowed him to push the plate into her hands.

"Why --" Kate began to protest the fact that Tony was pushing food down her throat, but he cut her off before she'd even got the sentence out of her mouth.

"Because it'll make you feel better," he interrupted. "Will you be okay if I have a shower?"

Kate nodded, not having the energy to make a sarcastic comment about being able to look after herself for the grand total of five minutes. She curled up in a ball, resting her head on the cushion she had previously been hiding under. She wanted to go back to sleep but she couldn't, partly because she felt ill, and partly because she needed to talk to Tony about the night before and she was pretty certain it was going to be one of the most embarrassing conversations of her life.

Tony appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, a towel tied round his waist, and Kate looked up at him. She felt like she was about to put her head on the chopping block. But, it had to be done and the sooner she got it over with… well, it wouldn't be _better_ when she'd got it over with, but she would at least be able to stop worrying about how Tony might react.

"Um, Tony?" she said, fiddling with a strand of her hair. "I need to talk to you."

Tony nodded.

"I'll get dressed," he said, taking a deep breath.

He went into his bedroom, dropping his towel and finding some clean clothes in the closet. He didn't want to have this conversation with Kate - she hadn't said what she wanted to talk about but he could guess that it had something to do with the night before. At the time, he had been more concerned with being a gentleman and looking after Kate than he had been about the consequences of what was happening, but now the reality had struck him hard. He had no urge to relive the whole sorry tale, complete with stuttering, awkward apologies from Kate and uncomfortable looks. It was going to be embarrassing for him, it was going to be embarrassing for Kate, and all in all, it was a conversation he'd rather not have.

With a sigh, he trailed into the living room and sat on the sofa next to Kate. She looked about as scared as he felt, and he realized that as humiliating as this whole experience was for him, it must be a hundred times worse for her.

"How's the hangover?" Tony asked, shifting uncomfortably as Kate looked at him.

"Bad," Kate replied, talking to her knees to avoid eye contact with Tony. "But, erm, I need to talk to you."

"Yeah," Tony nodded, "I, uh… go on."

"Last night…" Kate began, furrowing her brow as she tried to concentrate on her situation and not the throbbing in her head. Having highly important and embarrassing conversations with a hangover was definitely not something she wanted to try again. "Uh… What did I do?"

"What do you mean?"

Kate took a deep breath. "I mean… I woke up on top of you this morning," she pointed out.

"Yeah." Tony squirmed.

"But I don't… I don't remember how I got there. What happened?"

Tony blinked. That was… unexpected, to say the least.

"You can't remember?" he repeated, not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, it meant that, as far as Kate was concerned, it had never happened. She had never thrown herself at him and said things that, if they had come out of his mouth and not hers, would have earned him a sexual harassment lawsuit and several weeks' worth of comments on his inappropriate thoughts, outrageous behavior, and general disgusting-ness. On the other hand, now she was asking him to tell her what happened, which would just prolong the agony of the whole thing. Plus it would involve specifics which could have otherwise been avoided with phrases like 'when I… you know' and 'that thing I said'.

"No," Kate said, looking almost as scared as if it were Gibbs she was confessing too and not Tony. "I can't remember anything. I know I drank something blue with an umbrella in it, but then… Do you remember? Were you drunk too?"

"No," Tony said, running a hand through his hair and sighing. "No, I, uh… Not drunk. No."

"Can you tell me what happened?" Kate asked. "Please?"

"Erm, alright then. But don't be mad."

Kate shook her head slowly, lifting a hand to her mouth and nibbling her fingernails.

"Well, you were drunk," Tony said. "Obviously. And uh, there was this old man who didn't want to let you go with me, in case I was a psycho trying to take advantage of you and then…" he looked at Kate's face, as she nervously awaited the story of what happened. "And then…" Kate blinked at him, clearly terrified of what she was going to hear. What could he say? _'And you told him you loved me, demanded that I carry you home, and then you tried to have sex with me before passing out on top of me'_? That would be uncomfortable, to say the least. "And then I brought you back here and you fell asleep on the sofa next to me," Tony lied.

He looked at the floor, hoping he'd done the right thing. While he was the expert at explaining how he couldn't have possibly done whatever it was he was in trouble for because he was far, far away doing something totally different at the time, most of which (all of which, normally) was complete fabrication, he didn't like lying to someone's face. Even if it was the easier option for everyone, and it was really more lying by omission than anything else.

"And, uh, did you?" Kate asked, her voice almost a whisper.

"Did I what?"

"You know… take advantage of me?"

"No," Tony said, watching the relief flood Kate's face. "No, I can honestly say I did not take advantage of you."

"Thank you," Kate said sincerely, leaning forward and kissing Tony on the cheek.

"No problem, Kate," Tony sighed, slipping his arm over Kate's shoulders and resting his chin on her head. "No problem at all."

---

Tony flicked through the pages of the Playboy magazine he'd found in the magazine rack, glancing guiltily over his shoulder as he did so. Any affection Kate had shown for him when he revealed that he had been the perfect gentleman had disappeared an hour or so ago, when Kate had gone back to bed, swearing under her breath and muttering abuse about his hangover 'cure' which, apparently, wasn't working. She'd also made it clear that she blamed Tony's selfishness for her hangover – according to her, if Tony had concentrated on someone else's alcohol consumption instead of just his own, she wouldn't feel so bad. On previous occasions, Kate had made it perfectly clear how she felt about Playboy magazines, and Tony was anxious not to get caught 'reading' one. Especially when Kate was in such a bad mood.

After Kate had slumped over the sofa, almost in tears, and pleaded for some more painkillers, Tony had refused (she'd feel worse, he reasoned, if they wound up in hospital to get her stomach pumped out) but the sight of Kate in so much pain had drummed up a bit of sympathy and he'd rung Stefan to cancel their little golf rendezvous. And then, being far too sensible (or cowardly, depending on how you looked at it) to face Gibbs himself and tell him, he had emailed McGee with the change of plan. He hadn't said _why_ – tattling on Kate was not part of his agenda, not least because if he told on her, he was pretty sure she wouldn't 'be the bigger person', she'd just think of something Tony had done and tell on him as well – but Tony was sure Gibbs would want to find out why exactly Tony had decided that hanging around the apartment was a better use of his time than doing his job. Which was why he was looking at the Playboy magazine – he was waiting for Gibbs' call, and he was trying to calm himself down.

That's what he'd say if Kate caught him, anyway. Really, he just liked Playboy.

The laptop let out a shrill beep, and Tony jumped, dropping the magazine into his lap. He grabbed it, pushing it under the nearest cushion so Gibbs wouldn't see it, and leant forward. He took a deep breath, grateful to be in Paris, and hit the enter key.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs hollered, as soon as the screen flashed up. "McGee told me you cancelled today's golf game with Stefan. Did you?"

"Yes, Boss," Tony admitted, ducking instinctively. "But you see --"

"What the hell were you thinking, DiNozzo?" Gibbs barked.

"Kate's sick!" Tony protested, gesturing towards Kate's closed bedroom door. "She can't play golf. And I didn't want to leave her – Stefan will think it's strange if I leave my ill girlfriend all alone and play golf with him instead!"

Silently congratulating himself on his quick save, Tony leant back on the sofa. Unfortunately, Gibbs wasn't so easily appeased.

"Let me talk to her," he demanded.

"Uh, who, Gibbs?" Tony asked.

"Kate!"

"Erm…" Damn. Gibbs wasn't stupid, he'd know a hangover if he saw one. There was no way Tony could take the laptop into Kate's room so she and Gibbs could have a nice chat – not to mention the fact that Kate probably wouldn't appreciate having her peaky, hungover self displayed to everyone in MTAC. "I think she's asleep, Boss," Tony lied. Well, she might be, mightn't she? How was he to know? The door was closed. "I'll go and check."

Gibbs didn't look best pleased, but then again, he never did, so Tony wasn't too discouraged. Tony slipped into Kate's room, closing the door behind him so Gibbs wouldn't see, and squinted in the darkness.

"Kate," he whispered. "Kate."

Kate grumbled, pulling the duvet cover over her head and kicking her foot towards Tony. "Go'way," she mumbled.

"No. Gibbs wants to talk to you, what do I say?"

"Say I'm not well," Kate replied, her voice muffled by the duvet.

"I did, but he wants to talk to you. There's a lot of things that make Gibbs pissed, Kate, but I'm pretty sure hangovers are way up there when we're supposed to be working."

Kate mumbled something uncomplimentary, though Tony couldn't tell if she was referring to him or Gibbs. Probably both. Either way, it was obvious that she wasn't going to be much help. Returning to the living room and Gibbs, Tony sat on the sofa and tried to think of a way to keep both him and Kate out of trouble while keeping Gibbs… not happy, exactly, but reducing the chances that he'd fire them both before the day was out.

"What's wrong with her anyway?" Gibbs asked, his voice devoid of sympathy.

"Uh, she's got, uh," Tony cast his mind around desperately for some kind of illness that would be convincing. Unfortunately, his mind had gone blank and all he could think of was anthrax, and that was _not_ a sensible answer. "Well, I think… she's got, erm…"

"Spit it out, DiNozzo, what's wrong with her?"

"Morning sickness," Tony said triumphantly, saying the first thing he thought of that wouldn't start a war.

On screen, Gibbs choked on the mouthful of coffee he had just taken and, too late, Tony realized that 'morning sickness' was probably higher on the danger list than a hangover. On the plus side, at least Gibbs couldn't hold Tony responsible for morning sickness. He and Kate had only been in Paris a week – even if they'd had the inclination, they didn't have the time to get Kate pregnant. On the negative side, their pre-top-secret-mission medicals had come back clear, devoid of any nasty diseases and _certainly_ devoid of any mini-Kate's. Kate hadn't been pregnant when she left NCIS, which would lead Gibbs to only one conclusion. And it didn't bode well for Tony. He swallowed anxiously as Gibbs' face turned purple and he got that expression on his face – the one he reserved especially for Tony when he was really, really mad.

"I swear to God, DiNozzo, I am personally going to castrate you with a carving knife," he growled.

"No! Kate doesn't have… morning sickness… she just has… sickness. In the morning." Tony nodded frantically.

"What?"

"A bug!" Tony exclaimed, wondering why he didn't think of it before. "She's got a sickness bug."

Gibbs' face was slowly returning back to its normal colour. He still looked irritated, but he didn't look like he was going to tear Tony to shreds first chance he got, which was a big relief. Tony took a deep breath. This must be how people felt after near-death experiences.

A few elaborations later, and Gibbs was convinced that Kate had felt ill during the night and had been throwing up since five am. He grumbled about the fact that a whole day's work – or at least golf-playing – was being wasted, but even he had to agree that Kate couldn't be expected to turn up at the country club and prance around with a golf club all day when she was sick, and he conceded that it was in the best interests of the case that Tony played the concerned boyfriend and stayed with her. He agreed to pass on the message to the director, but not without the threat that Kate 'had damn well be better by tomorrow' – an order, Tony thought, that was a little harsh, seeing as it wasn't exactly under Kate's conscious control how quickly she got better. Of course, it was only a hangover and not _really_ a sickness bug, so she'd be better in a few hours anyway, but that wasn't the point.

Gibbs ended the video conference – without, Tony noted, saying goodbye – and the room was left in silence, apart from the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and the humming of the laptop. It was strange, Tony thought, how quickly you could get used to sharing your space with someone else. He lived by himself at home, and on the evenings when he got home from work too late or too tired or too jaded from the day's discoveries to entertain female visitors, the apartment was silent. Not in a creepy, horror-movie, something's-about-to-leap-out-at-you kind of way, just in a peaceful, empty way that he didn't even notice. But now that he was used to the noise of another person living in the same apartment as you, the silence was so obvious. Not that Kate ran around all day stamping her feet and beating on a drum, but she did make noise. Tony would hear her breathing when they were watching TV, or her footsteps on the kitchen tiles while he ate breakfast, or running water in the bathroom while he got dressed in his room. Even though he knew she was only in the other room, nursing her hangover and probably trying to sleep, it felt like she wasn't there, and it felt wrong somehow.

Sharing an apartment with a girl – even if it was against his will (at least at first) and for work and not romantic reasons – made Tony feel like an adult. He knew that was ridiculous – he _was_ an adult, and he should have started feeling like one several years ago – but it did. Even if the 'girl' was Kate, and would tear his head off if she ever heard him refer to their current living arrangements as anything like 'sharing a house with a girl'. If he was honest, he expected to have been shot by now. They were already a week into their three months, and Tony had to admit, he was surprising himself. In the weeks approaching the mission, he had eased the stress by thinking of ways in which he could annoy Kate. Things like putting pepper in her coffee and dead mice in her bed had filled his thoughts for hours on end. Sometimes, he'd sit at his desk in the bullpen while Kate phoned Petty Officers or typed up reports, and he'd burst out laughing at the thought of her face when he played yet another trick on her. Kate had glared at him and muttered comments about how he should be in an asylum, but he hadn't even replied with a sarcastic comment or thrown things at her. Well, most of the time. Sometimes, the temptation was too strong, but in general, the thought of what he was going to do to her when she _had_ to put up with him was revenge enough. By now, Tony had intended to have Kate tearing out her hair in frustration. He had wound her up all day before they left DC, irritating her as much as was humanly possible right up until they went, a tearful Abby in tow, down to Ducky to say goodbye. They hadn't spoken after that – Kate went off into her own little world, and Tony didn't have the heart to flick things into her hair when she was so preoccupied. The plane journey was far too serious for him to contemplate being annoying, and since they'd been in Paris… well, he just didn't feel like winding Kate up. Sure, there had been the occasional bickering, and he had teased her, even thrown mud at her. But, although the thought of some his well-planned practical jokes crossed his mind, he felt no inclination to put them into practice. He didn't even sit through an internal debate and then decide to behave maturely and sensibly – the temptation simply wasn't there. Either there was something about Paris that made him want to get along with Kate or – and the very thought made Tony shudder – he was actually growing up.

Frightened that he may indeed be reaching new and unwelcome levels of maturity (something he had diligently avoided since the age of sixteen) Tony spent the next couple of hours enjoying a variety of childish pursuits. He fetched a biro pen from the pad by the phone and started scribbling some lewd additions to the adverts in the fashion magazines that were on the coffee table. When he was done, however, he realized that he had only graffitied the ones that he knew Kate had read, and would only briefly thumb through if she was bored. He contemplated scribbling over the brand new Vogue that was sitting in front of him, delightfully glossy and un-thumbed, but he couldn't do it. He wouldn't like it if Kate did that to one of his magazines – though granted, there wasn't much more you _could_ do to the pages in his magazines – and it didn't seem fair to do it to her for no reason. Damn this newfound empathy!

Giving up on the magazine trick, which had always given him endless hours of pleasure before and was guaranteed to make Kate call him 'adolescent' or 'childish', Tony headed into the kitchen and opened the cupboards. One of his favourite things to do when he was a little boy – when his father was at yet another business meeting and there was no step-mother or maid around to shriek in horror when he made a mess – was take all the mouth-watering things out of the cupboards and put them in a mixing bowl. Eyeing the cupboards eagerly, Tony found himself a bowl and started adding ingredients. Popcorn, peanut butter, frosted cornflakes, crumbled biscuits, mashed-up clown cakes, M&Ms, melted chocolate, marshmallows, whipped cream, butterscotch sauce, gummy bears, ice cream, chocolate chips, icing sugar… Everything that had made his mouth water when he was a little boy went into the bowl, and within ten minutes Tony was wolfing down his sugary concoction. The very fact that it was so revolting made it delicious, and the fact that Tony knew – as he had when he was a boy – that it was completely against the rules, messy and utterly disgusting, and if he got caught he'd be in trouble, gave the whole thing an illicit thrill that made him grin a sticky, chocolatey grin. The familiar excitement faded away quickly though, as Tony glanced at the cupboards and noticed that, although they may be full to the brim with all the sticky goodness one could want, they were almost totally devoid of fresh groceries. Scrawling on a post-it a reminder to go shopping and sticking it on the fridge where he or Kate would see it next time they went into the kitchen was definitely, as far as Tony was concerned, mature behavior. Promising himself that the note was simply a way to remain out of trouble – he could ignore it as long as he liked, and leave Kate to deal with the groceries – half-convinced Tony that he wasn't a lost cause yet, and there was still hope for his inner child.

Sprawling out on the sofa – with his shoes _on_, just to prove he could get mud on the furniture if he wanted to and Kate couldn't stop him – Tony grabbed the remote control and flicked up cartoons. He'd brought in his bowl of chocolate and a bowl of potato chips, and was perfectly content to lie perfectly still and watch cartoons, only moving his right arm enough to pick a chip, scoop up chocolate, and put it in his mouth.

Around lunchtime, Kate's bedroom door opened and Kate emerged, looking a little worse for wear but not half as bad as she had done when she woke up.

"Hey," she greeted, leaning against the bathroom door with a towel over her arm. Her voice was still kind of husky, she sounded more like Abby than herself, but it was a vast improvement on earlier on.

"Hey," Tony replied, not moving his eyes from the television screen. "Feeling better?"

"Yes thanks. I might take another aspirin, though."

"I put them back in the medicine cabinet above the sink," Tony said, licking sludgy mixture off his fingers. Kate looked a little confused at all the chocolate goo, but didn't mention it.

"Is there hot water?" she asked. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Yeah."

Kate blinked, nodding. Tony still hadn't dragged his gaze away from the TV, and he was eating God only knows what. Still, Kate thought to herself, she'd seen stranger things. She went into the bathroom, dragging the laundry basket across the door in place of a lock (Tony still hadn't fixed the latch, and despite his current interest in 'Hey Arnold' dubbed over in French, Kate was pretty sure the lure of a naked woman would be too much for him). Making a mental note to fix the lock herself that day, she went over to the sink and brushed her teeth, gazing at herself in the mirror. Alcohol, she decided, was evil. _Evil_. Not only did it wipe almost an entire evening from her memory, give her a headache and made her mouth taste funny – not to mention make her throw up – but it made her look like she'd just crawled out of a cave, too.

Although she'd rinsed her mouth earlier on, the taste of alcohol mixed with vomit still lingered in her mouth, and Kate brushed her teeth for a good five minutes before she could finally taste minty toothpaste instead of stale vodka. Her dentist would be so proud. Running her tongue over her freshly gleaming teeth, grateful that her mouth no longer felt (and tasted) like it was lined with some kind of furry mould, Kate opened the medicine cabinet and reached for the bottle of aspirin. She didn't feel sick anymore – in fact, she was getting kind of hungry – and her headache had faded to a dull but constant throbbing behind her eyes. She swallowed the aspirin quickly, grimacing as it went down her throat, and turned on the shower.

The warm water washed away all the grime and dirt, and the fruity mixture of shampoo, conditioner and body wash overpowered the lingering smell of alcohol until Kate didn't feel like a walking, talking liquor bottle anymore and actually felt human again. Thanks to the aspirin, her headache had diminished to a mostly-ignorable level and she felt better than she had all morning.

Returning to the living room with her damp hair curling around her face and tickling her cheeks, Kate was surprised to see Tony exactly where he'd been when she went into the bathroom. She knew for a fact that she'd been in there almost an hour, but the only change in the living room was the cartoon on TV.

"Um, are you alright, DiNozzo?" Kate asked.

"Yeah."

"Ok-ay…" Kate stared for a minute as Tony's eyes widened at the sight of a bully stomping across an animated school playground, and shook her head. She made her way to the sofa, and hovered by the arm, above Tony's head.

"Thanks for covering for me with Gibbs earlier," she said, pushing hair out of her face.

"Welcome," Tony said.

"Okay. Well. I'm going to make some lunch, do you want some?"

"No thanks. This is good."

"Yeah… What is that?" Kate asked, peering in disgust at the gooey mixture Tony was eating.

"Chocolate. Gummy bears. Peanut butter. Bunch of stuff, it's good. Wanna try?"

Kate wrinkled her nose. Her hangover may well have more or less gone away, but she still couldn't stomach whatever it was Tony was eating.

"No," she said firmly. "Thanks."

"Suit yourself," Tony shrugged, shoveling more into his own mouth.

"You know," Kate said, walking towards the kitchen to make her own – more nutritious – lunch, "One day, all your teeth are just going to fall out. And don't expect me to come and hold your hand at the dentist while you're getting your cavities filled. You can suffer all by yourself."

"Fine," Tony called back, as Kate made a sandwich in the kitchen. "Maybe I'll just call Gibbs right now and tell him the real reason you were ill."

"And admit to him that not only did you take me out, fail to stop me getting absolutely plastered and therefore hungover, but that you lied to him about it? Good luck with that, DiNozzo. I'd say it's been nice knowing you, but..."

"I don't know why everyone thinks you're so nice," Tony said, joining Kate in the kitchen. "You're mean."

"That's for you," Kate said, handing him one of the sandwiches she'd just made and flashing him a sweet smile.

Tony nodded his thanks, sitting down at the table and cramming the sandwich into his mouth. He garbled something incoherent at Kate, nodding appreciatively.

"Excuse me?" Kate said.

Tony swallowed his mouthful of food. "I said this is good," he said, taking another large bite. "How do you feel?"

"Well," Kate smiled, sipping her glass of water and shrugging. "I'm never going to drink again, but I think I'll live."

Tony sighed mournfully. "Dammit," he said, "There was me thinking you were going to kick the bucket and I'd finally get some peace."

Kate grinned, taking a bite of her own sandwich and trying not to laugh at Tony's faux-miserable expression.

"Hey, Kate," Tony said, after a few minutes of silent eating. "Do you think I'm too mature?"

Kate spat out the mouthful of water she had just taken, spraying Tony with spit and water. He stared at her, his mouth open, and gazed down at his shirt, which was now well and truly drenched. Kate clamped her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh, but she couldn't help it. Tony looked so funny, sitting there in his shirt, with a totally outraged expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," she giggled, trying to look contrite, but slightly ruining the effect with the laughter. "I didn't mean to."

Tony, looking like he was about to cry, pulled his shirt off and threw it towards the washing machine with a sigh. It landed on the floor halfway across the kitchen, and he pouted.

"I hope you're happy," he said to Kate, indignation all over his face. "If I managed to avoid your cootie germs when you threw up on me earlier, now I'm well and truly infected."

Kate shook her head, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, and tried not to laugh.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, struggling to breath. "But... trust me, Tony, being too mature is the last problem you have. I mean, come on, you're worried I gave you cooties. What are you, nine? If you do have 'girl germs', it certainly wasn't me that gave them to you."

Tony grinned. "It's true," he said. "I do have a certain amount of sexual prowess. Something about me must be irresistible. Maybe it's my charm. Or my Italian heritage. Or perhaps just my fantastic good looks…"

"DiNozzo, if you don't want me to throw up on you again, I strongly recommend that you shut up," Kate suggested.

After lunch, mainly due to Tony's shirt lying in the middle of the kitchen floor, Kate announced she was going to do the laundry. Which was fine by Tony, until she told him he was going to help her. He didn't want to do laundry. He wasn't good at it, he never did it right, and on the time-wasting scale, he considered it to be on a par with making your bed – why bother, when you would only get back in it later that night? Unfortunately for him, his protests didn't work with Kate and he soon found himself helping her iron freshly washed clothes.

"DiNozzo, you're doing it wrong!" Kate scolded, as Tony put the iron down on top of the shirt she had handed him and turned away to clear a space on the counter. She grabbed the iron and set it down, rubbing the burn mark on Tony's shirt and throwing it at him. "You're such a moron," she said. "How can you be a grown man and not know how to iron your own clothes?"

"Sorry," Tony sighed. Usually he believed in the theory 'if I do it wrong I won't have to do it again' but Kate had quickly dispelled that idea. If he did it badly, she'd informed him, he'd have to carry on until he got it right. Fortunately, this was the last shirt before the evil iron would be put away and he'd only have to fold clothes – which may be totally boring, but at least, as Kate pointed out to him, he wouldn't be able to do any damage. Nice to know she had faith in him.

The laptop, which Tony had rescued when he got a new shirt after lunch, in the hopes that Kate wouldn't notice him playing games, beeped.

"Is that Gibbs?" Kate asked, wondering if she should disappear for a while so Tony could take the video conference and Gibbs wouldn't pick up that she had made a miraculous recovery.

"Nope," Tony said, peering at the screen with a slight frown. "It's Abby."

"Abby?" Kate repeated. Although anyone at NCIS could get hold of them if they needed to, Kate was a little surprised that Abby had been allowed to waltz into MTAC and start a video conference. "They let Abby into MTAC?"

"No," Tony said, reading the screen. "That's her personal computer, I bet she's at home."

Kate leant over and tapped enter, and Abby appeared on screen. She was sitting on her sofa, wrapped up in a black blanket. Her pigtails were still in place, but her make up wasn't, which made her look slightly surreal, like she was only half complete.

"Hey guys!" she grinned, her smile stretching from ear to ear.

"Abby!" Tony exclaimed, raising his hand in a high-five like gesture before lowering it, looking embarrassed that he'd just tried to high-five a computer screen. Kate laughed.

"Loser," she teased.

"Aw, it's okay, Tony!" Abby said, holding her own hand up. "Air five! What are you guys up to?"

"Oh, you know, saving the western civilization from crazy terrorists, one day at a time," Tony grinned.

"Laundry," Kate replied, rolling her eyes at Tony.

"Ooh, how domestic," Abby smiled.

"Are you okay?" Kate asked, cutting in as Tony opened his mouth, no doubt to make some inappropriate comment.

"I miss you," Abby admitted, her smile fading away a little. "It's not the same without you – the bullpen's too quiet. Gibbs hasn't got anyone to yell at."

"He's got McGee," Tony shrugged. "It'll do him good – it's character building."

"Do you want to talk to him?" Abby asked.

"Uh, McGee?" Kate said, frowning. "Is he at yours?"

Abby nodded, beckoning to someone off screen, and McGee appeared by her side.

"Hi," he said, waving at them.

"Erm, hi McGee," Kate said, her eyes wide at the thought of McGee spending the night at Abby's.

"Probie!" Tony barked, sounding more like Gibbs than Kate had ever heard him and making her jump out of her skin. "Put some damn clothes on! Nobody here wants to look at you in your skivvies!"

"Hey!" Abby protested, as McGee got to his feet. She yanked him back down, glaring at Tony. "You speak for yourself! You stay right here, McGee. I like you in your skivvies."

Kate and Tony shared a look, eyes wide, and Abby laughed happily.

"So what's it like in Paris?" she asked, settling against McGee and drawing the blanket tighter around herself. "Tell me everything. I haven't been since I was twenty-one."

"It's gorgeous," Kate gushed, and Tony let her speak, shooting a death glare at McGee when he rested his hand on Abby's thigh. He sat back and listened while Kate regaled Abby with tales of everything they'd done and what they still had to do, until Tony felt like turning into a true Gibbs clone and saying 'we're here to work, you know!' He restrained himself though – it really would be too much, he felt, and Kate would win the argument anyway.

When Kate and Abby paused for breath, McGee took the opportunity to point out that they had to go to NCIS. Abby looked crestfallen, as did Kate, but they said their goodbyes and closed down the computer.

"Are you alright?" Tony asked, when the screen was blank again.

Kate nodded, blinking quickly and glancing at the ceiling in a vain attempt to stop herself crying. She hated crying, especially in front of other people. Most particularly Tony. It was alright, she supposed, if she actually had something to cry about – that was understandable. She'd cried over cases before – after a particularly gruesome murder or if the case involved kids, she'd go home and ring her boyfriend or her brother, once or twice even Tony, and cry down the phone to them about the horrors she'd seen until she felt better. Then she'd come into work the next day, resilient as ever, and get on with things. But this was different.

"Are you going to cry?" Tony asked, nervously.

"No," Kate whispered, shaking her head and closing her eyes. "No."

Tony hovered for a second, watching while Kate fought with herself, then bit his lip.

"You can if you want," he offered, in case it was his presence that was stopping her letting out her emotion. "I'll go away."

Kate shook her head again, digging her fingers into her palms. "I don't want you to go away," she said, a little hitch in her voice as she tried not to let it tremble.

"Are you upset because you want to go home?" Tony asked, fidgeting.

Kate nodded and Tony took a step forwards. Shyly and somewhat awkwardly, he put his arms around Kate's shoulders and pulled her against his chest. For a second or so, Kate was stiff, but then she relaxed against him and rested her forehead on his chest. The awkwardness melted away and Tony gently stroked Kate's hair, while she took a couple of deep breaths and regained her composure.

"Okay?" Tony asked, as Kate pulled away from him.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Thanks."

"Any time," Tony said, stroking Kate's fringe away from her forehead. "And I mean that, Kate, okay?"

Kate nodded gratefully. "If we finish this," she said, gesturing to the stacks of laundry, "Then we can go out?"

"Sure thing," Tony nodded, as Kate turned away and began folding. "So long as by 'out' you don't mean another bar, because that didn't go so well last night."

Kate laughed, and turned around to reply. All speech failed her, though, at the sight of Tony standing by the kitchen counter with a red satin bra on over his shirt. His arms were hooked through the straps, which had fallen to mid-bicep, and he was twisting around at all sorts of impossible angles while he tried to do it up at the back.

"DiNozzo!" Kate exclaimed, finally finding her voice. "What the hell are you doing?"

Tony saw her staring at him and turned almost as red as the bra, looking sheepish. "Sorry," he muttered, taking it off. "Sorry."

"Give me that," Kate ordered, snatching it from Tony's hands and throwing it on the pile of clothes. "What's the matter with you?"

"Sorry," Tony repeated, shifting from foot to foot. "It's just… I can get them off, I was just trying to see if I can get them on."

"Well go and buy your own, you little cross-dresser, you'll stretch mine with your great big man back! And you had better not have looked at the size."

Tony grinned. "I don't need to look at the size," he said. "I can tell what size you are just by looking. I've removed many a bra in my time, Miss Todd, and all that experience teaches a man a thing or two."

"You've got some kind of horrible little fetishy obsession!" Kate exclaimed, snatching up her pile of clothes and taking them into her bedroom.

"I haven't got a 'fetishy obsession'," Tony said, following her into her room and sitting on the bed. "I'm simply an expert. A connoisseur, if you will."

"Of what?" Kate asked, hanging the clothes in the closet and fixing Tony with a disbelieving look. "Women's underwear?"

"Yep."

"That's not a connoisseur, that's a pervert."

Tony grinned, going over to the drawer Kate had just put her bra in and opening it. He peered in, sneaking a hand in, but Kate glared at him.

"Get out of there, DiNozzo," Kate ordered. "Why don't you do something constructive, like fix the lock on the bathroom door?"

"No thanks," Tony said, shaking his head and poking through Kate's underwear. "Ooh, nice thong, Katie. Is it part of a set?"

"DiNozzo!" Kate snapped, slamming the closet door and narrowing her eyes at him. "Get out of my bedroom! Now. Out!"

Tony scampered out of the room, closely followed by Kate.

"From now on, that room is out of bounds, is that clear?" she said. Tony nodded. "Good. If I catch you in there without my permission, I swear, I'll throw you out the window. Got it?"

"Yes Ma'am," Tony whimpered.

"Good. And Tony?"

"Yes?"

"Give me back my thong."

"I didn't take it!" Tony protested. He squirmed under Kate's gaze, weighing up what would be worse – admitting he took it or waiting for her to find it later.

"DiNozzo, give it back!"

"I haven't got it!"

"Give it to me _now_, or I'll make you wear it."

"It won't fit --"

"Good."

Tony whimpered slightly, cringing away from Kate as he reached into his pocket and handed her the lacy black fabric.

"I'm sorry," he pleaded, as Kate glared at him. She didn't say anything, but her gaze was enough to convince Tony that if he ever did that again then he would suffer serious bodily harm. He winced as she stalked off into her bedroom, returning seconds later.

"Are we still going out?" he asked, eager to get out into the street where there would be witnesses should Kate decide to murder him.

"Yes," Kate replied, fetching her coat and picking up her handbag. "Move it."

---

"So," Tony said, as they strolled along the river. "How's things with you?"

"Uh, good, thank you, you weirdo," Kate replied. Honestly. Men came out with the strangest things. Fair enough, if they hadn't seen each other or spoken for a while, but seriously. Who asked how things were with you when you had been living in the same apartment for a week?

"Charming," Tony muttered. "I don't know how your boyfriend puts up with you."

Kate rolled her eyes. "I don't have a boyfriend, DiNozzo, and stop fishing."

Dammit. Tony scuffed his foot on the floor. Kate was quick. Not that he _was_ fishing, he was just curious. And if he came straight out and asked, Kate would throw him in the river. If it was Abby, he could just ask. If he 'just asked' Kate, she would think he was hitting on her. And he had to admit, he couldn't blame her. 'Do you have a boyfriend?' was one of the most pathetic chat-up lines ever, if it could even be called one.

"So, how come?" Tony asked, a couple of minutes later.

"How come what?"

"How come you don't have a boyfriend?"

"That's hardly any of your business, is it, DiNozzo?" Kate pointed out.

Tony sighed. "I'm not trying to be nosy," he said. "I'm just interested. Not, uh, interested in being your boyfriend, I mean, just – not that I'd mind being your boyfriend, there's nothing wrong with it, I – uh, I'm not hitting on you, obviously – not obviously, I mean, you're very hit upon-able, but I wouldn't – not because of _you_, because it's inappropriate – erm…"

Kate laughed. "Did you eat Jimmy Palmer?" she asked, but Tony didn't reply. He thought it was best to keep his mouth shut, after the mess he'd made of his last sentence. "I know what you meant, Tony, don't worry."

Tony breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't horribly offended her. Plus, Kate had called him 'Tony' and not 'DiNozzo' which was a pretty good indicator that she wasn't pissed off at him.

"So what happened to Bill? I thought you two were getting on like a house on fire."

"His name's Phil, and we broke up before I left DC."

"Why?" Tony asked. "What did he do to you?" He put on an exaggerated tough-boy accent. "Do I need to send the boys round to his place for a little chat?"

"DiNozzo," Kate sighed. "Stop pretending to be in the Mafia, it's not big and it's not clever. It just gets on people's nerves, and one day it'll get you arrested. Or killed. And Phil didn't _do_ anything to me, we just broke up, so you don't need to 'send the boys round' to smash his face in. He's a nice guy, alright?"

"Can't be that nice if you broke up," Tony pointed out.

"Yes, he can." Kate replied. "It just didn't work out – he's still a nice guy." She didn't want poor Phil to be woken up in the middle of the night by an angry mob of Tony's friends, just because he was feeling a little over-protective. Sure, she had plenty of ex-boyfriends who did deserve that kind of treatment, but Phil wasn't one of them.

"Whatever."

"Look," Kate said, stopping and touching Tony's arm. "Did you ever meet someone who was really hot but you just didn't like them that much?"

"No," Tony admitted, and Kate rolled her eyes. "Alright," she said, "Did you meet someone who was a really nice person, but you just weren't attracted to them?"

"Sure," Tony nodded. "Is that why you and Will broke up?" he asked. "You're too ugly?"

"_Phil_. And thanks, DiNozzo, that's really nice."

"I was kidding, relax," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "Obviously he was the ugly one and you were the mean one."

"You," Kate said, pointing a gloved finger sternly at Tony, "Are one step away from being pushed into the water."

Tony grinned, and Kate laughed at him, leaning on the railing and looking at the water below them. She would never really push Tony in it – well, not unless he did something that truly warranted being shoved into an icy, dirty river – but she had to admit, it would be funny if he did fall in. She could just imagine his plaintive howling when his clothes got ruined. She heard a soft whirring sound behind her and turned to find Tony holding a digital camera.

"Did you just take a picture of me?" Kate demanded.

"Yeah," Tony shrugged. "So?"

"So delete it," Kate ordered, grabbing for the camera.

"No." Tony held the camera up and took another shot, snapping away as fast as he could as Kate tried to snatch the camera off him and then gave up and just hid her face in her hands and turned away.

"Stop it!" Kate protested, peeking out at Tony through the gaps in her fingers. "If you want to take a picture then go on, but don't just keep at it all the time!"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Tony asked, taking another picture.

"Yes! Tony!"

"What a shame," Tony grinned. Kate ducked out of his shot, glaring at him, and Tony laughed. Winding Kate up was fun. All his earlier worries about being an adult had disappeared – Kate was calling him all sorts of names, but it was just adding to his delight and spurring him on. Relishing the chance to piss Kate off without doing anything that would get him into trouble with Gibbs – he could hardly complain about taking photographs, after all – Tony grabbed Kate and hauled her close to him, holding the camera up and taking a picture of them both. When he finally gave up and put the camera away, Kate's cheeks were pink and she looked mildly frustrated, but she wasn't fuming.

"You're so annoying," she said, batting his arm lightly.

They carried on walking, making their way along the river. A duck waddled across the path in front of them, hopping down into the water with a slight splash and ducking it's head under, before swimming away in a stream of ripples, quacking loudly.

"Aww," Kate laughed. "Cute."

"Why's that cute? All it did was stick it's ass in the air. I could do that," Tony said. "You wouldn't think I was cute."

"You aren't a duck."

Raising an eyebrow, Tony bent forward so his head was at knee height, and flapped his arms. "Quack," he yelled. "Quack quack." He got up and grinned at Kate, winking at her as she glanced around, red in the face. "Embarrassed now, aren't you?" he teased.

"Yes!" Kate hissed, glancing around. An old couple on a bench were staring at Tony, utter confusion on their faces, and Kate grabbed his arm. "Sorry," she said to the elderly pair, smiling and trying to drag Tony away. "I'm sorry about him." The old lady peered through her large, round glasses at Tony, and frowned. She said something to her husband, sounding concerned, and Kate dug her nails into Tony's arm. "Idiot," she said, under her breath. "Go and apologize to those old people for being such a freak and ruining their walk."

"No," Tony muttered, enjoying himself far too much to really care what a couple of golden oldies thought about him.

"Fine," Kate said. "I'll do it. How do you say 'day release' in French?"

"Okay," Tony said, giving in. He certainly wasn't going to tell Kate how to say it in French, but chances were good that the dear old couple could speak English, and Kate would have no trouble convincing them that he belonged in the nearest nuthouse after the little display they'd just witnessed. "Let's just go, alright?"

Kate glanced over her shoulder and found the couple still staring at them, so she agreed and hurried away with Tony. Several minutes later, they reached the main street. The were a lot more people here, and Kate hoped Tony wouldn't do anything stupid like he had done earlier. She guessed he wouldn't – it was one thing to look stupid in front of a couple of people on an abandoned stretch of river. It was entirely different to make an idiot of yourself in a packed out tourist location. Kate led the way down the street, watching the river, and looked over at the rows of little cafés and restaurants that were scattered around. It was cold out, and the sky was grey, but the tables outside the cafés were all full, mainly with couples gazing at the river or the Eiffel Tower, or kissing across the table.

"Have you noticed how everyone in this place seems to be somehow romantically involved with whoever so happens to be nearest to them?" Kate asked Tony. "I swear I saw that woman kissing some other guy when we passed her back there."

Tony looked around – it was true. Most people he could see were couples. He looked at Kate, leaning with her back against the railings and staring at him, clearly expecting him to agree with her and make his own little contribution.

"Maybe it's the wine," he joked.

Kate wrinkled her nose at Tony and shook her head. "No it isn't," she said. "There's wine everywhere. It's Paris. It addles people's brains. Everybody knows that Paris is a city for lovers. There's all this hype about it being this amazingly romantic city, so when people get here they feel obligated to somehow reinforce that image."

"Well, you know what they say," Tony said, stepping closer to Kate so he was invading her personal space and she had to lean back to avoid him.

"About what?" Kate asked warily, eyeing Tony suspiciously and bringing her hands up to his chest to create a barrier between them. Whatever crazy idea he'd got into his head now, she wasn't sure she liked it.

"When in Rome…"

"We're not in --" Kate didn't get to finish her sentence, because Tony had one hand on her back to stop her toppling into the river and his mouth was pressed against hers.


	8. Chapter 8

Woo, chapter 8! Sorry for the slow updating. I'm on Xmas holidays now, so hopefully I will have more time to update. Thank you so much for the amazing reviews guys. I hope you like this chapter - I'm not entirely happy with it but I'm sick of it now lol so I'm just going to post it and move on.

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Kate froze. 

Tony was kissing her.

He had one hand on her back and the other on the back of her head with his fingers all tangled up in her hair, and he was kissing her.

Tony DiNozzo was kissing her.

He had some stubble that had grown back since the last time he shaved that scraped against her chin and her cheeks, and because she had been halfway through a sentence and not expecting to be kissed, she couldn't breathe very easily, but she didn't notice.

All she noticed was that Tony was kissing her.

They were in the middle of a street, in Paris, in full view of absolutely everyone, and Tony had decided that now – _now_ – was as good a time as any to plant his lips on hers and try to ram her mouth open with his tongue.

It was rude, and it was inappropriate, and she hadn't done anything to make him think she'd welcome that kind of… harassment, to put it simply. It was completely unacceptable, and the very fact that he'd just gone ahead and _kissed_ her, without any consideration for the consequences or her own feelings was totally, completely… appalling. Downright appalling.

It didn't stop her opening her mouth and kissing him back, though.

They pulled apart at the same moment, staring at each other. Tony suddenly felt very self-conscious and didn't know what to do with his hands, which he had removed from Kate's body at the same time as he had stopped kissing her. He clenched them into fists, before relaxing them and folding them across his chest, and finally just shoving them in his pockets and looking at Kate like a little boy awaiting instruction in a classroom.

"I think," Kate said softly, averting her gaze from Tony's face and staring at the floor, "I'd like to go back to the apartment now."

Tony nodded. If she wanted to go home, he'd go home. She'd kissed him back, but from the expression on her face – something between tears and fear – he guessed she wasn't exactly over the moon about the latest development in their relationship.

"Go on then." Kate said, quietly. Her voice was faint, and Tony struggled to hear her, but he knew what she meant. If he didn't move first, Kate would have to press her body right up against his in order to get through the small gap Tony had left between them.

He stepped back, dusting imaginary dirt from the front of his coat, and, out of habit, offered Kate his arm. There was a long, long second while Kate looked at his proffered elbow, her bottom lip trapped so hard between her teeth that a tiny red drop of blood was threatening to spill over her lip and trickle down her chin, like a vampire, and Tony was just about to move his arm away in awkward embarrassment when Kate tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and stepped forwards, matching her stride to his and walking beside him.

Her hands were trembling, Tony noticed, as they walked down the road. He didn't know if it was from the cold, or because she was sad or scared or angry about the kiss, or even if her hands were only shaking the normal amount and he was just so on edge that it looked like a lot. He didn't ask why, because he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Are you alright?" he asked after a few minutes.

Kate didn't answer, just stared at the floor and shrugged. That was about as close to a 'no' as you could get, Tony figured, so he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb and tried to think of something comforting to say.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offered.

"No," Kate replied, still not looking at Tony.

"Well… is there anything I can do?"

"No."

They walked in silence the rest of the way, Kate staring either at the floor directly in front of her or off to the side, but never at Tony. Tony kept looking at Kate, trying to gage her reaction, but she never once turned her face towards him to give him a clue.

"We're nearly home," Tony said, forcing cheer into his voice as they rounded the corner and their street came into view.

"Tony, don't," Kate said, shaking her head.

"Don't what?" Tony asked softly.

"Don't… don't call it home, alright? It's not."

Tony nodded, frowning slightly. He was sure he'd referred to the apartment as 'home' before, and it hadn't bothered her then. Sure, it wasn't their _real_ home, but it was home for the next three months.

They reached their building, stepping into the lobby side by side, and got into the elevator. Tony tried to make eye contact with Kate, but she flatly refused to look at him and instead gazed determinedly up at the glowing red numbers above the door, watching them go up from 1 to 8 and stepping out of the doors and into the lavish hallway as soon as they slid open.

Inside the apartment, Kate pulled off her shoes and coat and sat on the sofa, her chin resting on her knees, deep in thought. Tony sat on the sofa beside her, keeping far to the other side in case she didn't want to be near him.

"Tony," Kate said, suddenly, looking up at him and staring him in the eye for the first time since they'd kissed. Tony swallowed as he saw that her eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

"Yes?" he replied, feeling the self-consciousness from earlier flood back.

"Do you know why I quit my job in the Secret Service?"

Tony thought back to when he had first learnt Kate would be working with them. He had been throwing paper clips at a make-shift target, set up on the desk opposite him that had used to belong to Vivian until she decided she couldn't hack it and had gone off to live the rest of her days in a mental institute. Actually, she'd gone back to the FBI, but it was the same thing in Tony's book. Gibbs had told him to 'stop wasting time and clear up the mess he'd made at Agent Todd's desk'. Tony had been slightly confused – he could have sworn that when he left Air Force One (or Alpha Foxtrot 9000, if you would listen to that hot tempered little Secret Service Agent who was brave – or stupid – enough to stand up to Gibbs) that Agent Todd worked for the Secret Service. And, from the impression Tony had gotten, she had a pretty poor opinion of NCIS. Why she would want to work there was beyond him. Still, he'd done as he was told, with only minimal grumbling about having to clear out what had become his second desk to make room for, as he put it, 'a stressy Secret Service chick.'

'_She's not stressy'_, Gibbs had told him. _'And if you call her a chick again, she'll probably rip your balls off'_. Which was the very definition of 'stressy', as far as Tony was concerned, but there was no arguing with Gibbs.

Well, unless you were Kate.

"Because Gibbs offered you a job at NCIS?" Tony hazarded a guess, which seemed the appropriate thing to do seeing as he didn't know the answer to Kate's question.

"Yeah," Kate muttered, sarcastically. "I quit my job protecting the President so that I could come and work with a team who is under-funded, over-competitive, and whose team leader – who is held in high regard throughout the agency and revered by everyone, including the director, as the best of the best – has a blatant personality disorder."

There wasn't a lot Tony could say to that, to be honest. It wasn't as if he could accuse her of being negative or mean – she was right. They did their best, but it was hard having to constantly fight with the big-buck, big-name agencies like the FBI. It did make them overly possessive when it came to jurisdictional issues, and Kate fought their corner with the best of them, but even Tony knew it was a far cry from the days of the instant respect the Secret Service commanded wherever it flashed its shiny badges. And as for Gibbs… personality disorder was putting it nicely. On a good day, he was a grumpy git. On a bad day… phew. And yet their little area of the bullpen was practically a Probie tourist attraction, with nervous groups of new agents huddling by the elevators to gawp at Gibbs yelling at one of the honored few who he actually bothered with.

"The pay?" Tony suggested. No, that couldn't be right… the Secret Service were loaded. You'd definitely get paid more to take a bullet for the President than you would for solving murders in the Navy, right? "Better hours?" Tony asked. Sure, the hours at NCIS were bad, but being constantly on-call for the President couldn't be easy.

"The hours at NCIS are worse than they ever were in the Secret Service," Kate told him, destroying his theory. "At least there they had the pretence of letting you say no to overtime. Here it's just 'get your ass here now'."

"So… why did you quit?"

"If I didn't quit they would've fired me," Kate shrugged, hiding her face in her knees. "'Resigned' looks better than 'fired' on a CV."

"But what for?" Tony asked. He was curious now – he wanted to know what Kate had done that was so bad she would've gotten herself kicked out of the Secret Service for it.

Kate shook her head, sighing. "It doesn't matter," she said. "I just wanted to see if you knew."

Tony sighed. If this had been any other day, he would have pushed her to tell him all the sordid details and wound her up and teased her until she either gave in and told him or threatened to shoot him. Today… he had the feeling he had pushed Kate enough for one day.

Kate got to her feet, her arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold.

"I'm going to have a bath," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

"You had a shower like, five hours ago," Tony observed.

Kate shrugged, and went into the bathroom, leaving Tony by himself in the empty living room. She turned the water on, reaching for the plug and scalding herself under the hot water flowing from the tap.

"Shit!" she gasped, snatching her hand away and peering at the patch of reddening skin on the back of her hand. Scowling, she sucked on the burn and crossed over to the sink, where she turned on the cold water and held her hand underneath. It soothed the hot skin, but after about a minute of holding her hand under the steady stream of ice cold water, it started to go numb. Sighing, Kate turned the tap off and peered at the red mark. It didn't hurt anymore, but it was still warm to the touch – a stark contrast to the rest of her hand, which felt more like it belonged to one of the corpses on Ducky's table than to a living, breathing person. After checking that the linen basket was holding the door securely closed and that Tony couldn't walk in on her – after the kiss, she was even more convinced that she did not want him to see her naked than she had been before – she adjusted the temperature of the water running into the bath and went back to the sink.

Kate stared at her reflection in the mirror and frowned. Her lip had bled earlier – she supposed she'd been chewing on it at some point, though she couldn't remember doing it – and there was a little circle of dark red blood that had dried just underneath a faintly bruised area of her bottom lip. Other than the slightly abused appearance that that minor wound gave them, her lips looked normal. They looked just like they always did. They didn't look as if they'd been on the receiving end of a kiss that had totally screwed up Kate's head.

She raised a finger, hesitantly stroking it along the outline of her lips as if she was applying lip balm. It was strange, how one little action could send her into such turmoil. Up until the moment it actually happened, if anyone had asked Kate how she would react to Tony kissing her, she would have answered surely and confidently. She'd be furious, she would say. She'd push him away and slap him in the face and give him an earful about respect and manners and not behaving like a total bastard, and she wouldn't speak to him for days. Then she'd forgive him and everything would go back to normal – just the same as the time when he broke the clasp on her grandmother's diamond necklace because he wouldn't stop fiddling with it, and the time when he drove into the back of her car in the parking lot because he was on the phone to some surgically enhanced bimbo and wasn't looking where he was going.

It had never occurred to her that instead of feeling furious and offended and utterly pissed off, that instead of wanting to scream at him and cause him severe pain, being kissed by DiNozzo might make her want to cry.

She didn't know _why_ she wanted to cry – she supposed it must be a combination of stress, PMS and homesickness all building up until the slightest little thing seemed like the end of the world – but since the kiss she'd been fighting the tightness in her throat and the burning behind her eyes that meant she was going to lose it.

It confused her. She shouldn't be sad or frightened or disorientated, she should be angry. But she wasn't, and she was confused by it. And she was confused by the fact that, far from being the obnoxious face-sucking she had assumed it would feel like, being kissed by Tony had actually been… nice. It had felt good. For some reason (though thinking back, Kate realized it was totally illogical, what with all his experience) Kate had connected Tony's kissing technique with that of a thirteen year old boy. She'd expected there to be clanking teeth and awkward head-bumping, and tongues flaring up gag reflexes. It wasn't like that at all. It was gentle and sweet and, if she was honest, she had liked it.

The kiss itself, obviously, not the whole Tony part of it. She didn't like that one bit.

But, what confused Kate the most, was that in the midst of all the bewilderment and the fear and the overwhelming urge to curl up into a ball and bawl her eyes out like a little girl, was the unshakeable feeling that if she went back into the living room and snuggled up next to Tony, wrapped up in his arms with her head on his shoulder and his fingers laced in with hers, it would turn out okay.

Her inner child was throwing a tantrum – jumping up and down and stamping her feet and wailing about 'Tony germs', screaming her head off that he was vile and repulsive and that kissing her was a ghastly, sickening thing to do (her inner child was very opinionated when it came to matters involving Tony), but although Kate had to admit there was an element of truth there, she couldn't quite find it in herself to agree.

---

Tony slouched on the sofa, staring at the bathroom door that was between him and Kate. He rubbed his chin, noting the slight stubble that had grown there and wondering if it had scratched Kate when he kissed her. It felt quite sharp against his own fingers, which were already calloused and rough and had a tiny blister between his thumb and his finger from the use of his gun, so he suspected that rubbing it against Kate's face – which, he couldn't help but observe, was soft and silky and smelt just as good as the rest of her – probably caused her some serious discomfort. He knew that, compared to the massive amounts of discomfort he was putting her through right now, ranging from the simple fact that they were sharing an (admittedly huge and luxurious) apartment to the fact that less than an hour ago he had literally grabbed her by the head and kissed her, a tiny bit of stubble brushing her chin probably wasn't the biggest of their problems, but it still bothered him.

Kate hadn't broken down and sobbed, like she had the night after they met Stefan, and she hadn't blinked tears away and denied she was crying even while Tony held her and she had to clamp her eyes shut to stop the tears seeping out, like she had after they spoke to Abby, but she had most definitely had tears in her eyes before she went into the bathroom, and Tony wouldn't be surprised if she was in there right now, crying her eyes out.

His father's voice hissed in his ear, in the familiarly deep, manful tones that somehow always managed to make Tony feel like a little boy even when the voice wasn't coming from a person and was just the memory stored in his brain.

'_Well?' _DiNozzo Senior demanded. _'Are you a man or aren't you?'_ Tony shook his head, trying to shake free the overbearing voice of his father and deal with the situation in his own way. Not that he had his own plan as of yet, but he was sure he'd think of something… Tony returned his gaze to the door, peering at the grain of the wood and the shiny door handle. _'Well?' _came the voice that, try as he might, Tony couldn't get rid of. _'Get in there and make it better!' _It was an interesting idea, Tony had to admit, and the idea of 'making it all better' was incredibly appealing, especially as he could think of some particularly enjoyable ways in which he could… comfort… Kate, but Tony wasn't an idiot. Not totally, anyway. He was painfully aware that walking in on Kate while she was in the bath was absolutely, categorically, _not_ the way to help. And, if he followed the use-your-brain-and-look-at-the-facts train of thought instead of his preferred in-the-world-according-to-Tony train of thought, he had to admit that Kate was probably firmly of the opinion that the best way to 'make it better' would be for Tony to hurl himself from a great height. Preferably onto some very sharp rocks in a shark-infested pool.

Giving up on watching the bathroom door – it was clearly doing more harm than good, and Tony wasn't sure he wanted to dwell for too long on any of the possibilities that he was coming up with while staring at it – Tony headed to the kitchen. It was a lot less comfortable perching on stainless steel bar stools than it had been sprawled on the sofa, but Tony didn't particularly care. He slumped over the kitchen worktop, his head in his hands, and tried to think of some kind of course of action.

Tony stayed like that for thirty minutes, draped over the kitchen surface, until he came out of his trance and realized that his back was killing him. He must b getting old. With a groan and a small wince of pain, Tony sat up straight and stretched out. He still hadn't thought of anything constructive – in fact, all he'd thought about was the kiss he and Kate had shared. His mind was full of thoughts on how Kate's lips tasted like expensive lipgloss and her teeth were all perfectly straight except for one, near the back on the left side, which was kind of wonky. And how good it had felt to stroke his hands through her hair, which was all silky smooth and soft, and that her mouth was deliciously warm in a way that made the very tip of his tongue tingle, and there were freckles on the bridge of her nose and scattered over her cheekbones that were so scarce and tiny and faint he hadn't even noticed them until he was right up close to her, but they made her look innocent and sweet as well as hot and sexy, all at the same time.

---

When Tony left the kitchen, Kate was out of the bath and sitting on the sofa. She looked all soft, her skin still slightly pink from the heat of the bath and the damp ends of her hair curling loose from the band she'd scraped the rest of it into. She was picking at a loose thread on the hem of her t-shirt, wrapping the tiny red string round and round her finger and tugging it so it frayed. As Tony entered the room, she got up and hovered by the coffee table. Tony stayed put in the doorway, uncertain whether Kate was going to yell at him or cry or just go into her bedroom so she didn't have to deal with him. When she didn't move, just gazed uncertainly at him, Tony took it as his cue to start talking. Unfortunately, he didn't have anything to say.

"Erm…" he began, trying to think of something that wouldn't just add to the situation. "I, uh, I'm, we… erm… see…"

"Why did you kiss me?" Kate asked, interrupting him mid-stutter.

"Did you like it?" Tony asked in reply.

Kate gave a weak smile. "I asked you first," she pointed out. "Answer my question and I'll answer yours."

"I don't know," Tony admitted. "I, uh… you were… I don't know. Just… because."

Kate's expression didn't change. She didn't look fazed at all, almost like men came up to her and kissed her 'just because' every day of the week. Which, Tony supposed, was a possibility.

"Your turn," Tony pointed out, eager to get the focus away from his pathetic little non-answer. "Did you like it?"

Kate pondered the question for a moment or two, her head tilted to one side as she surveyed Tony and considered the repercussions of her answer. Did she like the kiss? Kind of. It had been very nice. Hell, it had been fantastic. Did she like being kissed by Tony? No. Well… not really. She wished it hadn't happened. But did she wish it hadn't happened because of what it could mean for her and Tony, or did she wish it hadn't happened because Gibbs had told her in no uncertain terms that she'd lose her job if she started making out with her coworkers and she was afraid he'd find out?

"I don't know," Kate replied, shaking her head.

"You can't copy my answer!" Tony protested.

"Well you can't go around kissing people 'just because'!" Kate shot back.

"You kissed me back!"

Kate opened her mouth to yell at Tony, to deny it or to blame him, but she faltered. He was right. She did kiss him back.

"Yeah… well… so?" she retorted. Perhaps not the wittiest comeback she'd ever produced, but what the hell. "Just because I kissed back doesn't mean I liked it!"

Without thinking it through, Tony took a couple of striding steps over to Kate and kissed her again, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist to stop her stepping backwards and the other locked on the back of her head, forcing her mouth against his. When he released her, they were both out of breath, and Kate's hair was mussed where Tony's hand had been. Kate scowled at Tony, narrowing her eyes and struggling against him.

"Did you like it that time?" Tony asked, his arm still around Kate's waist pinning her to his own body.

"No, you're too rough," Kate complained, squirming as she tried to get away. Realizing that Tony had a firm grip on her and she wasn't going anywhere, and all she was achieving by wriggling was to grind her body against Tony's, she stood still. "Let me go," she ordered, glaring up at Tony. Being this close to him only emphasized the difference in their sizes, and the ease with which he was holding her against her will was beginning to get at her.

"Too rough?" Tony repeated, loosening his grip on Kate enough that she wasn't forced up against him but not enough that she could get out of his grip. Tony kissed her again, much more gently this time. He didn't yank her head around, leaving his hands on her waist and back, and when he pulled away Kate's cheeks were flushed and her lips were red. "Better?" he asked, a cocky grin fixed on his face.

"I should slap you," Kate breathed, lifting her hands and resting them on Tony's chest. "I should slap you and then shoot you and then slice off your manhood with a nail file."

Tony's grin faded slightly, and he shifted nervously, but he didn't drop eye contact with Kate, nor move away.

"I should kill you," Kate added. "I should report you for sexual harassment and I should never speak to you again and I should be horribly, horribly offended. I should tell Gibbs, and my big brothers, and I should watch them beat you to a pulp for being such an unbearably obnoxious, sex-obsessed bastard."

"But?" Tony asked, his grin returning to it's full, mega-watt power.

"What makes you think there's a 'but'?" Kate smiled.

"Because if there wasn't, you wouldn't still be standing here."

"What do you mean?"

"I let go of you," Tony pointed out. "Straight after I kissed you."

Kate blinked at him, glancing down to see Tony's hands resting lightly on her hips, not holding her at all. All it would take was a step backwards and his hands would drop off her and she'd be able to get away.

"You sneaky bastard!" she protested, slapping him weakly in the chest. "I can't believe you!"

Tony did reply, but his answer was lost in a vague mumble as he kissed Kate at the same time as he spoke. They half-sat, half-collapsed on the sofa, still kissing, and Kate giggled as Tony tugged her onto his lap and nibbled her bottom lip, opening his eyes and looking up at her like a puppy-dog, before flashing her his trademark grin and flipping her off his lap and rolling over her, pinning her to the sofa. Kate squealed, a little startled but not at all surprised at the ease in which Tony made the move. She wriggled out from under him and pushed her hands against Tony's chest to alleviate some of his weight.

"I'm going to take a wild guess here," Tony said, taking in Kate's sparkling eyes and flushed, wide smile, "And I'm going to say that you liked that."

Kate laughed, tipping her head back and exposing her throat. It was true – she did like it. She liked it a whole lot.

"Little bit," she admitted coyly, tilting her head to one side.

Tony grinned, rolling off the sofa and taking Kate by the hand. He tugged her to her feet, smiling at her and pushing a strand of hair off her forehead, before he leant forward and kissed her earlobe.

"Your place or mine?" he joked, gesturing with his free hand towards the bedroom doors.

Kate just laughed at him, shoving Tony gently and allowing him to lead her into his bedroom. As Tony pushed her onto the bed and flopped down beside her, grinning wider than Kate had ever seen him grin before and reaching for her, logic won over and Kate caught hold of Tony's hand.

"Tony…" she protested weakly, as Tony covered her neck with tiny butterfly kisses.

"Kate…" Tony replied, glancing up at her for a moment before returning to his task of kissing every inch of exposed skin he could find.

"We can't do this," Kate pointed out, giggling as Tony's kisses tickled her shoulders. "It's not going to happen."

"Uh-huh," Tony nodded, tracing his fingers lightly over the small cluster of freckles on Kate's shoulder and kissing every one. "Alright."

"No, not 'alright', stop it," Kate corrected, trying to concentrate on what she was saying.

"Why?" Tony asked, not sounding in the least bothered that Kate was telling him to stop what he was doing.

"Because… because Gibbs will kill us," Kate said.

"I don't care," Tony shrugged. "In the famous words of Monsieur L'Oreal, you're worth it."

Kate didn't reply, and Tony eased himself up onto his elbows so that Kate was forced to look him in the eye. She looked nervous, and unsure, and Tony was shocked at the surge of protectiveness he felt towards her at that moment. He wasn't sure where it came from, but the last time he had felt like that was when Kate's then-boyfriend had accompanied her to a company awards ceremony and then broken up with her. It occurred to him that now he might be the one upsetting Kate, and that was the last thing he wanted to do, so he stroked Kate's hair gently and took a deep breath.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want too," Tony said. Kate didn't reply. "I won't hurt you," Tony promised, running his fingers over Kate's stomach and resting his hand over her hips. "I promise."

"I know you won't," Kate whispered.

"Then don't look so frightened," Tony said. "Smile for me." Kate gave a weak, tentative smile, and Tony rolled his eyes. He kissed Kate again, and when he pulled away, she smiled up at him, happily but hesitantly. "Much better," Tony murmured, whispering into Kate's ear and tugging blindly but expertly at her clothes. "You have a beautiful smile."

Kate smiled again, and this time there was nothing hesitant about it.


	9. Chapter 9

Here you go guys - sorry it took a while! Thanks for the reviews xxx

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At around one am, Kate's eyelids fluttered open. It occurred to her, if only for a brief moment, that something heavy was draped across her waist and she couldn't move her right leg, but, as she shifted her head slightly and tried to see in the darkened room, she decided that she was so warm and comfy that she didn't actually want to move anyway, so it was hardly worth getting in a panic about. With that, she snuggled closer towards whatever it was that was so warm and safe against her back, wrapping her in her cozy little cocoon, and went back to sleep.

A couple of hours later, a slight, steady tapping of rain at the window woke Kate again. Instead of being faced with the usual clock, lamp and glass of water that adorned her bedside table, she found her view was blocked by a hairy, muscular, lightly tanned chest. Scanning her eyes up, Kate was greeted by the shadowy sight of Tony, fast asleep, with a little puddle of drool in the corner of his mouth and his hair all mussed, and the memories of the night before flooded back to her.

As quickly and as quietly as she could, Kate slid off the bed, being careful not to wake Tony, and crept into her own bedroom. The little clock glowed 03.56, and Kate sighed. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, taking in the slight shadows under her eyes and the pinkness of her cheeks that came from being out of bed at four in the morning after spending most of the night engaging in activities other than sleeping. She could feel the thin, salty layer of sweat that remained on her skin, some hers and some Tony's, and she could smell the faint scent of Tony's aftershave lingering around her.

_Slut_, accused the part of her brain that was still a good little Catholic girl, and the rest of her had to agree. Giving her disheveled reflection a disgusted glance, Kate grabbed her towel and went into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, pulling off what little clothing she was wearing and stepping under the hot streams of water. She leant against the wall as the steam rose up and floated out of the top of the shower, steaming up the mirror and the glass doors to the shower, making the air thick and humid and leaving condensation dripping from the cool surfaces of the bathroom. The tiles were cold against Kate's forehead, providing a welcome contrast to the slightly-too-hot water running over her neck and back, ridding her skin of the last remnants of Tony and the night before.

Kate sighed, standing up straight again and reaching for the bottle sitting on the shelf. Coating her hair with the gloopy, sweet-smelling shampoo, Kate felt the all-too-familiar prickling in the corners of her eyes that signified tears. She was sure she'd cried more since she and Tony had gotten to this damn city than she had in the past year. Reaching a hand up to brush the tears away – something of a pointless exercise in the shower, but Kate had long-since gotten into the habit of wiping tears away quickly, in the hope that nobody would notice – Kate forgot that her fingers still had soap suds all over them from the shampoo. Cursing under her breath as the shampoo stung her eyes and made them burn, Kate squeezed them shut and tilted her head up directly to shower head. The water rinsed the soap away, but her eyes still tingled unpleasantly.

As she showered, Kate weighed up her list of pros and cons of dating Tony (self-destructive, she knew, but she couldn't help it. They'd slept together, for crying out loud!) she realized something that was incredibly unsettling. Not only was her list of pros longer than her list of cons, but all the cons were simple, trivial things like 'he doesn't pick up after himself' and 'he has terrible eating habits'. She _knew_ there were downsides to dating Tony, she just knew it. Any other day, she'd have rattled them off faster than Gibbs could say 'rule 12', but today she just couldn't think of any.

When her hair was washed and conditioned – twice, to prolong the time before she had to face Tony – and the water had gone from hot to lukewarm, Kate finally turned the shower off and stepped out. The condensation on the mirror had faded to the thinnest of layers now, due to the lack of heat coming out of the shower, and Kate could see herself clearly enough to see that her hair was its usual mass of wet tangles that it always was the minute she stepped out of the shower and all the strands started twirling themselves around one another into waves. She didn't understand how so many women managed to look gorgeous when they were just getting out of a pool or a shower. In all those TV adverts for body wash, or hotel resorts, they always had the sleekest, most polished appearance the second they emerged from the water. Kate always managed to look like a drowned rat. It really wasn't fair. Leaning forward and flipping her hair upside down so she could wrap it in a towel on top of her head, Kate thought about all those surgically-enhanced bimbos Tony paraded around on his arm. At least, she hoped they were surgically enhanced – if not, her life would officially suck. _They_ probably managed to look sexy when they got out of the shower.

Thinking uncharitable thoughts about all Tony's ex... well, they could hardly be called girlfriends; they were more like conquests, Kate rubbed the towel over her skin probably more roughly than she should have. They were soft and still had the fluffiness towels only get when they're brand new, but her skin was also soft and using the towel as if it was a scrubbing brush caused vicious red marks to spring up against her milky skin. Throwing the towel down in frustration, and then throwing the plastic cup that held the toothbrushes as well, because the towel just landed on the floor in a heap and didn't even make a noise, Kate kicked at the floor angrily and pulled on her clothing. With a sigh, she sat on the edge of the toilet seat and held her head in her hands. She didn't smell like Tony anymore, she smelt like fresh showers and peach, and all the grime had been washed away down the plughole leaving her skin clean and soft, but she still felt dirty. She'd never felt like this before – not the first time she'd had sex, the night she graduated from High School, in her boyfriend's parent's bed as part of some feeble attempt at wild rebellion; not the morning after the one and only one night stand she'd ever had when she woke up in Panama City on Spring Break and couldn't for the life of her remember the name of the guy passed out next to her in the hotel bed; not even when Tony went back to Panama City himself and returned with a picture of her in that wet t-shirt competition.

All those times were worse than this time, if she thought about it, but Kate couldn't remember ever feeling so guilty or slutty or angry with herself as she did right now. She supposed it was because all those other times she'd learnt from her mistakes. But the thing about sleeping with Tony – about sleeping with her _partner_ – was that she'd done it before. It had cost her her job in the Secret Service, and although she wouldn't change anything now (except the fact that Major Kerry was dead), she had vowed to herself – and to Gibbs, as well – that co-workers were joining the ranks of the married, the underage and the friends' exes. And this was her own fault. She didn't have an excuse. She wasn't drunk or high on adrenaline and freedom after too many years of strict upbringing, she was a fully functioning adult and she had known exactly what she was doing. There had been ample opportunity to say 'no' or 'stop' at any point – hell, Tony had stopped several times and asked if she was sure. Not to mention the fact that she and Tim had actually been _dating_, and hadn't slept together until something like the third date, which might not sound like long but considering they hardly had time for dates and had known each other for months actually seemed like quite a while. She and Tony hadn't even had one date.

She was, quite simply, a total slut. Kate remembered the teachers at her prim and proper Catholic school, and how the time she had been caught making out with her boyfriend from the school down the road at lunchtime in the bushes they had thrown a total fit and acted like it was the worst thing in the world. One of them had dragged her off by the ear while another chased her boyfriend off the school grounds with a broom. It would have been comical if she hadn't been in so much trouble. Even the memory made her wince – she was pretty sure she still had a couple of scars from that little session in the principle's office. God, if those teachers were here now… She had always felt rather resentful and bitter about that particular experience, feeling that it was totally undeserved and over-zealous, but now, for the first time in her life, she found herself thinking that they probably should have hit her harder.

Taking a deep breath, Kate pulled the bathroom door open and headed out. The door to Tony's bedroom was still slightly open, as she'd left it when she snuck out earlier, and it was still dark and still, so she guessed Tony was still asleep.

Just as she was thinking that, however, Tony stumbled out of the door looking a little confused and very scruffy.

"Where did you go?" Tony asked, rubbing his eyes and looking at Kate.

"Shower," Kate muttered, turning away from Tony. As he'd emerged from the bedroom, she had suddenly felt an inexplicable rush of anger towards him. She wasn't sure where it had come from, but she focused on it, because being angry with him gave her someone to blame other than herself, and that seemed pretty appealing right now.

"You gonna come back to bed?"

"No."

"You alright?" Tony asked. This was a very strange reaction. Girls didn't normally get all funny the morning after spending the night with him. In fact, they were usually pretty cheerful. It wasn't until a couple of days later that they started to get pissed off with him. "Kate?"

"Leave me alone, DiNozzo," Kate snapped, pushing past him to the kitchen and slamming the door loudly.

Tony sighed. He wasn't sure he could handle a moody Kate this early in the morning. On the other hand, leaving her would probably just give her time to brood and get worse, in which case he'd be in even more trouble when he finally did face the music. Weighing up his options between taking a shower and dealing with Kate or going back to bed and putting it out of his mind, Tony returned to his bedroom and fetched his robe. Although the latter choice would have been his first pick, something told him that this wasn't one of those moods that would just dissipate with time, and the sooner he tried to worm his way back into Kate's good books, the better.

"Kate?" Tony called, heading into the kitchen after Kate and watching her make a cup of coffee. "What's up?" Kate glanced at him, so she obviously heard him, but she didn't reply. "Oh, Kate, come on, that's not fair," Tony groaned. "If I've done something to you, you have to tell me."

"You slept with me, DiNozzo," Kate pointed out, her voice dripping with acid.

"Is that why you're pissed? Because we slept together?" Tony asked, and Kate shot him her typical 'you think?' look. "You were hardly an innocent bystander, Kate, and it takes two!" Tony was aware that pointing that out was hardly conducive to calming Kate down, but seriously. He wasn't going to be blamed for something that they both did.

"Well you started it!" Kate said.

"You weren't exactly unwilling, Kate!"

Kate didn't reply. She just turned away, blanking him, and sipped her coffee. Tony waited for a couple of seconds, to see if she would respond, but she didn't. Shaking his head and sighing, Tony aimed an angry kick at the nearest chair before heading into the bathroom. He turned on the water and dropped his robe and boxers on the floor, stepping into the shower. He yelped and jumped away as the cool water struck his chest, causing his feet to slip on the slick tiles and his back to twist painfully. He turned the temperature dial as far as he could, twisting it back and forth in an attempt to work some hot water out of the shower, but it didn't work. He couldn't even get 'warm' – the range varied from 'icy' to 'lukewarm' but didn't go higher than that. Gritting his teeth, Tony settled for lukewarm and stepped under the spray again, bracing himself against the cold water. He wouldn't have bothered, but after the night with Kate, he needed a shower. Badly. He didn't think he could wait for the water to heat up again. He was only in the shower for a couple of minutes, but by the time he was almost-clean, the cool water had drained away to be replaced by freezing water and he was covered in goosebumps. Shivering, Tony wrapped his towel tightly around himself and huddled by the radiator for a couple of minutes. When he was warm enough, he dragged himself away and got dressed, before rejoining Kate in the kitchen.

"Thank you so much for the warning about the lack of hot water," Tony said, pointedly.

Kate glanced at him but didn't speak, just returned to her cup of coffee and ignored him.

"Oh, come on, Kate, for God's sake!" Tony exclaimed. No response.

Tony sat down at the kitchen table opposite Kate, but she got to her feet and hovered by the microwave, coffee-mug in hand. Tony dropped his head onto his arms and groaned. He had never got the silent treatment from Kate before. That meant she was madder with him than she'd ever been before, which in turn meant this was the worst he'd ever done to her. Which was saying something. Unfortunately, having never got this reaction from Kate before, that also meant that he had no idea of how to deal with it. He was used to her screaming at him or throwing things at him or glaring at him (it was quite fun, actually, to push her until she lost it). This wasn't fun. This was horrible.

"Kate?" Tony said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady and soft and not yell at her like he wanted to, because that would make everything worse. "I'm sorry."

Kate did turn to look at him, then, and for a moment Tony was relieved that she didn't look furious or upset. But then he realized she didn't look happy either – she just looked like she really couldn't care less.

That, Tony decided, was worse than mad.

"No you're not," Kate muttered, shaking her head and heading for the door. "Leave me alone, DiNozzo."

Tony sighed as he heard Kate's bedroom door slam. He hated to admit it to himself, but he needed advice. He hadn't needed advice on girls since he was thirteen years old. Feeling truly pathetic, and the total epitome of the useless male, Tony ran through the people in his head that would be able to help him with Kate. There was Abby, he supposed, but there always that chance that she'd side with Kate, hate him, and go and tell everyone what a terrible person he was before he got the chance to convince her otherwise. McGee… McGee was, quite simply, out of the question. That was just too far beyond pathetic to even consider. Gibbs _could_ help him, but whether he would or not was another matter entirely. He'd be far more likely to just fire them both than he would be to actually give Tony any advice.

That reminded Tony of what Kate had said the day before, about quitting her job in the Secret Service. That had seemed important, somehow, though at the time he'd been too preoccupied with the ramifications of kissing Kate to bother delving too much into it. If anyone would know why Kate left, it would be Gibbs. But Tony wasn't entirely sure he wanted to risk his and Kate's jobs for some measly scrap of information that may or may not help him.

He could always talk to Ducky, he supposed. Whereas Abby had some kind of sworn allegiance to Kate on account of the pair of them having two x chromosomes, and McGee meant well but was far too stuttery and Probie-like to be trusted not to spill the beans to Gibbs, Ducky was neutral. Of course, there was a chance that he'd blab to a roomful of agents while he was telling one of his stories, but he was more reliable than McGee or Abby. And besides, Ducky could let slip that Gibbs did ballet in a pink tutu and nobody would turn a hair, because he was so full of rambling tales that everyone just tuned him out.

Throwing a nervous (and somewhat guilty) glance over his shoulder, Tony retrieved the laptop. He stared at the blank screen, fighting an internal battle between respecting Kate's privacy, and figuring out the best way to deal with the situation. With a sigh, Tony keyed in the instructions and watched a little grey box appear on screen. 'Request pending', it read, and Tony waited while the tiny hourglass rolled around under the mouse pointer. He was just beginning to think nobody was at NCIS at this time of night, and was on the verge of hitting cancel and putting the laptop away, when there was a high-pitched beep and the desktop was replaced by a slightly grainy but still familiar image of Ducky, peering at the computer screen like he still didn't quite understand it, with a dead body behind him on the autopsy table and Jimmy Palmer scuttling around with files full of autopsy reports.

It was somehow reassuring to know that even while he was risking his life, pretending to be somebody who stood for everything he hated; that while he was living in a surreal kind of third dimension where people he saw every day were only accessible via computer screen and where the only person with whom he could drop the pretence for a couple of hours a day was Kate; and while he could have entertained the thought – not matter how brief or fleeting or momentary it may have been – that sleeping with Kate could be anything other than The Worst Idea On Earth; Ducky was still pottering around autopsy with his glasses on his nose and telling dead marines stories about his Great Aunt Mildred while he weighed their organs.

"Hi Ducky," Tony said, wearily.

"Hello Tony!" Ducky beamed, waving a blood stained scalpel at Tony in greeting.

"Working late?" Tony asked, trying out of pure politeness to make some kind of small talk.

"Don't we always?" Ducky chuckled. "How's Paris?"

"It's, uh…" Tony hesitated, trying to find the right words.

Ducky smiled. "Did you know," he began, "That the Eiffel Tower opened in 1889? Remarkably, only one man was killed. They were installing an elevator at the time. The poor man was the only fatality in the entire construction of the tower, which is extraordinary when you consider that --"

"Ducky," Tony interrupted, wishing he didn't have to – Ducky's ramblings were one of those things that you took for granted, finding them excruciatingly long and unnecessary until you didn't hear one for a week, in which case they turned into comforting luxuries and reminders of home and relative normality. "Is Gibbs there?"

"No," Ducky replied, looking slightly confused. "He's with the director, I believe. Would you like me to fetch him?"

"No," Tony said quickly. "No, uh, actually it was you I was looking for."

"Oh," Ducky said. "Of course. Is it a medical problem?"

"No, actually." Tony fidgeted uncomfortably. "No, I was just, uh, hoping to talk to you. I have something I need to ask you."

Ducky looked a little taken aback, but strangely pleased. He nodded at Tony, noting the pointed glance he threw towards Palmer.

"Mr. Palmer?" Ducky called, turning his back to the computer and Tony. "Would you run those blood samples up to Abby, please?"

Jimmy looked up from the file he was reading and reached for the blood samples.

"Of course, Doctor," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose and heading out of autopsy, blood vials in hand.

"And why don't you stay a while?" Ducky suggested as he left. "I think she could probably do with the company."

Jimmy's face broke into a grin to rival Tony's own when Kate leant over his desk to yell at him and he saw down her shirt, and he scampered off with a spring in his step. Tony would have laughed if the circumstances had been different. As it was, he felt more like putting his fist through a wall than laughing.

"So, what is it I can do for you?" Ducky asked.

"Do you know why Kate quit her job in the Secret Service?" Tony said, bluntly. He supposed cutting right to the chase was the best option – if he spent too long skirting round the issue, Kate could walk into the kitchen and throw a steak knife at him, or Gibbs could walk into autopsy and catch him talking to Ducky, or he could simply chicken out and make up some lame excuse for calling, like a question about the Louvre, and then he'd never get the answers he was looking for.

"Don't you know?" Ducky looked surprised.

"Gibbs wouldn't ever tell me," Tony explained.

"And I assume Kate wouldn't either, otherwise you wouldn't be asking me," Ducky observed. Tony silently cursed his astuteness. Prying information out of Ducky was one thing – getting him to violate someone's privacy was another. It was fairly obvious that if Kate wouldn't tell Tony, she didn't want him to know, and, as irritating and as childish as he may be, Tony would normally respect that (to some extent, at least). He certainly wouldn't go sneaking around behind her back – because, as much as he tried to tell himself that Kate was in the bedroom and he wasn't deliberately being secretive, Tony knew that the minute Kate appeared in the doorway he would close down the laptop without so much as a parting farewell. But, there was such a thing as extenuating circumstances, and Tony felt it was in the best interests of both the case and his own personal welfare, not to mention Kate's, if he found out what was going on and fixed things. Not an easy accomplishment at the best of times, and nigh on impossible, Tony guessed, in the aftermath of what had happened between them.

"She mentioned something yesterday about quitting before they fired her, but..." Tony trailed off.

"That was part of it, but I'm not sure it's my place to say."

"Please, Ducky," Tony begged. "You don't need to give me all the details, just a vague overview. Please? What did she do wrong?"

On-screen, Ducky sighed heavily. He gazed at Tony for a moment or two, obviously pondering the dilemma, and, after what must have been about a minute but seemed to Tony like ten times that, sighed heavily.

"Alright," he said. "I suppose you know about her affair with Major Kerry."

"Yeah," Tony shrugged. Obviously. He might be a bit of a slacker sometimes, but significant details – such as a dead man's Secret Service girlfriend being the same woman who was helping NCIS with the case – had a tendency to be noted by all the agents on the case. He didn't really care that much, to be honest. At the time, Kate had just been another agent from another agency, generally bobbing around looking fierce and trying to make things difficult for them. Then, when she'd joined NCIS, he'd thought of other things to tease her about. After all, teasing someone about their dead boyfriend, even if he was an ex, was verging on heartless.

"Well," Ducky continued, "I believe that when the case was solved, Kate's conscience got the better of her and she offered her resignation, after which Jethro offered her a job with us. On the condition that she didn't let the same thing happen again at NCIS."

"Oh." Tony swallowed, staring at the floor. "Right." Well. That explained a lot.

"Tony?" Ducky said, concerned, stopping midway through is story. "Is there a problem?"

Tony looked up. He screwed his fists into balls, clenching and unclenching them. Suddenly, with no warning, he slammed one of hands down hard onto the table beside the laptop, startling Ducky and making the laptop jump a couple of centimeters across the table.

"Shit," he muttered angrily, before thumping the table again and grazing his knuckles. "Shit!" he shouted.

Ducky blinked.

"Tony, are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with concern and worried lines appearing on his face.

Tony sighed, folding his arms on the table and resting his head on top of them.

"I think I've done something really bad to Kate, Ducky," he admitted. Because, as much as he had gotten defensive when Kate blamed him earlier, it was true that he started it and it was true that it would have never happened if it wasn't for him.

"What?" Ducky asked.

Tony managed a faint smile. "Where do I start?" he said.

Ducky pulled off his gloves, throwing them into the bin by his feet, and untied his scrubs. "I suggest," he said, settling himself on the chair in front of the computer and giving Tony his full and undivided attention, "That you start at the beginning."

It took a good fifteen minutes for Tony to get the story out, because he kept repeating himself or going back to cover something he'd missed out, and there were a lot of long pauses where he just sat and thought for a while before carrying on with the story. When he was done, however, Ducky stared at him thoughtfully.

"My my," he said, softly. "So history does repeat itself."

"What?" Tony asked.

"Nothing," Ducky said, looking slightly startled at the sound of Tony's voice.

Tony contemplated asking him to elaborate, but decided against it. It would only turn into another long-winded story that Tony didn't actually care that much about. "What do I do now, Ducky?" he asked instead, glancing at the door again to make sure Kate wasn't going to appear.

"Talk to Kate," Ducky recommended. "And to Gibbs."

"Are you crazy?" Tony spluttered. "If Kate doesn't kill me, Gibbs definitely will!"

Ducky smiled knowingly, and Tony frowned. He didn't like that smile, it made him feel stupid.

"I suspect Gibbs will be a lot more understanding than you think," Ducky said.

Before Tony could ask for more information, the kitchen door swung open and Kate walked in.

"Hi Kate," Tony said loudly, hoping Ducky would get the hint.

He didn't.

"Hello Kate!" Ducky said cheerfully. "Tony was just telling me about you and he 'hooking up', as Abby would say." Tony shook his head frantically, trying to warn Ducky not to tell Kate what they'd been talking about, but he was totally oblivious.

"Oh," Kate said, staring at Tony.

"Gotta go, Ducky," Tony said quickly, slamming the laptop closed and standing up to face Kate. He suddenly noticed how small she was, and how dwarfed her tiny frame looked when she was standing all alone in the doorway of the enormous kitchen. Earlier, when she had ignored him and it had seemed like she didn't care, Tony had wished she would show some kind of reaction. He wished he could take that back now, and she would still not care, because now she was looking at him all… hurt. Not angry or upset, just hurt and fragile. Like he'd done something truly horrible to her.

"Kate…" Tony began, unsure of what to say but pretty sure that he ought to say _something_.

"Why did you tell Ducky?" Kate interrupted, as if she hadn't heard Tony start to speak.

"Because…." Tony trailed off. He couldn't explain. It was the only thing he could think of that might help, but it had apparently just made it worse. Last night, when Kate was half-pinned underneath him and gotten a look on her face like she was about to throw herself out of a plane, Tony had promised her he wouldn't hurt her. He had meant physically – he wasn't going to be rough with her, or lose control and leave her covered in teeth marks and scratches from his fingernails. She'd believed him, and even though the kind of hurt he was talking about last night and the kind of hurt she was feeling now were totally different, he still felt like he'd gone back on his promise.

Kate slipped into an empty chair at the kitchen table, tracing her fingernail over the grain of the wooden surface. All those reasons why she shouldn't get involved with Tony that she hadn't been able to think of earlier were flooding back, pouring into her head faster than she could keep up with them.

"Kate," Tony sighed, hovering a safe distance behind her and watching her.

"I thought I told you to leave me alone?" she said, coldly.

"Well… you did," Tony admitted.

"Then why aren't you?"

"Because I've decided not too. I'm not the enemy, alright? I'm not the bad guy in this, so don't treat me like I am."

There was a long, long pause where Kate just stared at Tony, eyes wide. She was confused, Tony realized. Confused wasn't an expression he was used to seeing on Kate Todd's face, and it made his skin crawl and his teeth itch. It physically hurt him to think about all the doubt written on Kate's features, and that he put it there.

"Kate," Tony said, softly, taking a step towards her and holding his arms out. "C'mere."

Kate shook her head.

"Please?" Tony tried.

Kate shook her head again, wrapping her arms around herself and staring at the floor. Tony took a few steps towards her, getting her to her feet and pulling her close to him in a hug, and kissed the top of her head.

"Don't," Kate whispered, trying to pull away, but Tony tightened his grip and held her close.

"I know you hate me right now --" he began.

"No!" Kate gasped, looking up at him and meeting his eyes. "No!" Tony held Kate's gaze for a moment longer, before he decided she was telling the truth. She dropped her head against his chest, breathing in the comforting, familiar smell of him and wishing she'd taken a little longer to relish it clinging to her own skin before she washed it away without a trace. "I don't hate you," she whispered, closing her eyes and leaning on Tony, letting him support her. "I hate…"

"Yourself?" Tony suggested, pushing a strand of hair behind Kate's ear.

Kate nodded slowly. Damn him for knowing her so well. It would be so easy to lie, to say something else or make a vague comment about the situation. It would be so easy to blame Tony, like she had earlier – he'd practically offered her the opportunity on a platter. But Kate had never been someone to take the easy way out, and he was right. She did hate herself. Who knew Tony could be so astute so early in the morning?

"Well, I don't hate you," Tony said, stroking her hair. "You have a lot of redeeming qualities, you know. I could list them, if you'd like, but that could get cheesy and embarrassing for both of us."

Kate managed a weak smile, but didn't say anything.

"Come back to bed, Kate," Tony said softly, almost pleadingly.

"I can't," Kate whispered, trying to hold back yet another set of tears.

"Not even just to sleep? It's barely five am, Kate."

Kate shook her head slowly, but she lifted her head and met Tony's eyes even as she did so. "Just sleep?" she clarified, nibbling her bottom lip.

"Yes."

Tony watched anxiously as she tugged her bottom lip between her pretty little teeth, running her tongue along the inside and nibbling lightly at the skin. Kate hesitated for a second or two, before nodding reluctantly and following Tony back into his bedroom. She slid under the covers with him, letting him wrap his arms around her and hold her against his chest, before finally closing her eyes and going back to sleep. Tony twirled a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger until he was convinced she was totally out of it, then slipped further under the covers and watching her sleep. He ought to have expected some kind of less-than-ecstatic reaction to the fact that they slept together before they were even dating. Still – at least she had agreed to get back in the bed, even if it was 'just to sleep'. If she really wanted to be away from him, she could have quite easily gone back to her own room and got a couple of hours sleep there. Maybe all was not lost just yet.

---

It was nearly eight when Kate woke again. The sun had just come up, and the dull, yellowy light was pouring through the gap in the curtains and glinting into Kate's sleep-filled eyes. Screwing her nose up and rolling over, Kate found herself face to face with Tony. She blinked at him for a moment, and opened her mouth to speak, when Tony lunged forward and kissed her.

"Good morning," he grinned, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischievous glint.

"Um," Kate replied, a little dazed by Tony's unexpected greeting. "Why did you do that?"

Tony laughed, pulling Kate closer to him and tracing his fingers gently over the outline of her tattoo, which he had spent twenty minutes staring at and stroking in fascination the night before.

"It's my natural reaction when I wake up with my gorgeous girlfriend next to me," he explained, squeezing Kate's thigh gently.

"Girlfriend?"

"You don't have to be if you don't want to," Tony said, fidgeting a little and loosening his grip on Kate. "Sorry. Erm…"

"I never said I didn't want too," Kate interrupted.

Tony grinned, planting a kiss on Kate's forehead. "So," he said, wriggling closer to Kate and pulling her on top of him. "Does this make it okay that we slept together? Or are you going to require a marriage proposal before you stop feeling guilty?"

Kate smiled. "This makes it okay," she nodded. "And how did you know I felt guilty?"

"You aren't the only one who knows how to profile, Kate. I'm not a _total_ disgrace to my training. Besides, when a nice Catholic girl sleeps with you before you even take her on a date, then disappears at four am to cry in the shower, it doesn't take a genius."

"I wasn't crying!" Kate lied.

"Your eyes were all red."

"I got shampoo in them!" That was the truth, at least.

"Whatever, Kate."

"I did!"

"I believe you," Tony nodded, in a tone that clearly said he didn't.

"Idiot," Kate muttered, elbowing him as well as she could from her awkward angle on top of his chest.

Tony rolled his eyes, reaching a hand up and stroking Kate's hair like she was a cat. He liked having her curled up on top of him, he realized, where she was close enough to touch or stroke or cuddle with the minimum effort. He had never been a particularly great fan of the whole morning-after-cuddle thing – he'd rather just have sex again, to be honest. But with Kate, he found he actually wanted to cuddle her – and not just because he didn't want her to get pissed with him, which was why he succumbed to most of his other girlfriend's demands for snuggling. There was something nice about holding Kate like this. Not nice enough that it would become his new favourite pastime or anything, but he probably wouldn't make her beg before he consented to cuddling her in the mornings. He might not make her ask at all, actually, he might just do it.

"So," Kate said, lifting her head up from where she was resting it in the crook of Tony's neck. "All those redeeming qualities you said I have earlier…"

"The ones that are too cheesy and embarrassing to list?" Tony grinned.

"Yep."

"You want me to list them, don't you?"

"Yes please."

---

Tony lay on his back, fingers entwined with Kate's, grinning up at the ceiling. He could see Kate out of the corner of his eye, sprawled out half beside him, half across him, with the sheets tangled around her feet. He could feel her breath on the side of his neck, warm and tickly. Her thick, dark hair fanned out over his chest, tickling his chin as he breathed in, and sending the fruity, clean scent of Kate's shampoo into his nose to mingle with the smell of skin and sweat that hovered around the bed. He was lying on what he suspected was Kate's bra, and the hooks were digging into his spine sharply, but he had neither the will nor the energy to move and get more comfortable.

"Tony," Kate said, her voice slightly muffled as she spoke into his neck.

"Hmm."

"D'you remember what I said I'd do if I wound up naked because of you?"

Tony thought about it for a moment.

"Yes," he said. "But you said I could shoot you if you started finding me attractive."

"Truce?"

"Yeah," Tony nodded.

Kate was quiet again, and Tony half wondered if she'd fallen asleep, but he didn't want to disturb her by moving so he could check. He had to admit, of all the situations he'd pictured himself and Kate in when he thought about them coming to Paris, this certainly wasn't one of them. Which wasn't to say he hadn't thought about it – he had. But that was nothing to do with Kate personally, that was simply because she was a girl and didn't look like the back end of a bull. He'd thought about having sex with pretty much every semi-attractive female since he was fifteen years old, and Kate was no exception. But he'd never intended to actually sleep with her.

He was glad he had, though.

It was almost silent in the apartment, with only the faint sound of traffic outside the apartment to add to the sound of their breathing, so when Kate moved her legs and the sheets rustled, Tony noticed. He didn't move though – he was too comfortable and sleepy to do anything more than note the noise in the back of his mind. That is, until Kate sat up and swung her legs out of the bed, leaving Tony in a draft and without his human hot water bottle that had been keeping his entire left side warm.

"Where are you going?" Tony yelped pitifully.

"To have a shower," Kate said, scraping her hair into a ponytail and reaching for Tony's shirt, discarded at the foot of the bed.

"You already had a shower!" Tony pointed out.

"And then _you_ got me all hot and sweaty again," Kate retorted.

Tony pouted. "Don't leave me," he whined. "Kate… you know, we're not even doing anything today. We could stay in bed all day long…"

"_You_ can stay in bed all day long if you want to," Kate smiled. "I'm not staying with you."

"How about I stay in bed, you get up, and you come back in every half hour to entertain me?"

"Um…" Kate pretended to think about it. "No."

Tony's face fell. "Fine," he said. "In that case, you can't borrow my shirt." He lunged for Kate, pulling her over and undoing the buttons on his shirt, pinning her to the bed with his elbows while she kicked and squealed. If she really tried – in fact, if she put barely any effort in at all – Tony knew she could escape, so he didn't pay much attention to her cries to let her go.

Although Kate wriggled and shrieked, she didn't put too much effort into actually keeping Tony's hands away from her and within seconds, all the buttons were undone and the shirt was gaping open.

"Oops." Tony's mouth twitched up at the sides and he grinned widely, making him look almost feral, and Kate tried to glare at him but failed miserably, ending up in fits of laughter as Tony pounced on her and tickled her ribs.

"Get off me!" she protested, rolling away from Tony and bouncing off the bed.

Tony just grinned, leaping up after her and racing out of the room.

"Last one in the shower does the cleaning for a week!" he yelled, throwing Kate a grin and a wave over his shoulder.

Knowing that no matter who won, she would be doing the cleaning not only for the next week, but every week until they went home, Kate just rolled her eyes at Tony and poked her tongue out. Still, she didn't intend to be beaten by anyone at anything, so she hot-footed it into the bathroom behind Tony and jumped into the shower just as he turned it on.

"Ha ha," she teased. "Get out."

"Nope," Tony replied, looking slightly taken aback at having lost the race but still inanely cheerful nonetheless. "This shower's more than big enough for the both of us. Move over." Without waiting for Kate to respond, he gave her a gentle shove to get her out of the doorway and hopped in beside her. "You're still wearing my shirt," he pointed out.

"Oops," Kate replied, mimicking Tony's earlier response.

"You can keep it if you want," Tony offered, wrapping his arms around Kate's waist and resting his chin on her head. "It looks better on you than it does on me." He glanced down at her and grinned. "Especially when it's wet," he added.

Kate elbowed him, flashing him a sparkling grin at the same time to show she didn't really want to hurt him, and angled the shower so that it the spray hit her shoulders and not her face. She tried to wash, but it was difficult with Tony bobbing about like an over-excited puppy dog. And, like a puppy, he was far more interested in playing than in anything else. Every time Kate turned around, Tony was getting ready to throw a sponge at her or pour scented body gel over them both. Despite her feeble protests that she didn't want anything to do with his childish games, it was hard not to smile when he squirted red gel at the wall and drew pictures in it with his finger, and when he dropped the soap and slipped over while trying to pick it up, in a truly cartoon-like fashion, landing with a slight splash and a loud, echoing thud on his ass at Kate's feet, it was all Kate could do not to burst out laughing.

By the time they got out of the shower, the water was cold and they were reduced to shivering wrecks, their limbs prickled with goosebumps and their teeth chattering. Predictably, Tony came up with a variety of ways in which they could warm up again, but Kate was having none of it. She didn't know how long it would take for the hot water to heat up again, and she didn't fancy sitting around waiting so she could have her third shower of the day. And it wasn't even midday. Instead, Kate wrung the excess water from her hair, wiped her wet feet on the bath mat, and headed off in search of some clean towels. She returned a couple of minutes later, one towel tied around herself, another wrapped around her head, and threw a third towards Tony.

"Thanks," he said, stepping away from the heater he had been huddling by and drying himself off.

"Don't come near me until you're dressed," Kate ordered, leaving him alone in the bathroom and walking towards her own room.

---

"I'm dressed," Tony grinned, springing into the living room and throwing himself onto the sofa. "Wanna have some more sex?"

Kate rolled her eyes, throwing the nearest cushion at Tony's face and dropping onto the sofa beside him. "No," she said firmly, as Tony snaked his hand along her back. "Get off me, DiNozzo."

"What are we gonna do all day if you won't let me touch you?" Tony whined. Kate shrugged, trying not to laugh at Tony's pitiful, childlike expression. "Fine," Tony pouted. "Maybe I'll just go out shopping and spend some money that isn't mine, and leave you here all by yourself."

"Fine," Kate grinned. "Maybe I'll just sit around here all alone and wait for you. Naked."

"_Fine_," Tony shot back, folding his arms across his chest. "Perhaps I'll just go and buy all kinds of gorgeous jewellery, diamonds and rubies and gold, and hand it out on street corners, seeing as you obviously wouldn't be interested…"

"Well, if you're going to do that, then maybe I'll just ring up some male strippers and ask them to come over…"

"Maybe I'll go up the Eiffel Tower without you then."

"Perhaps _female_ strippers would be more fun…" Kate grinned.

"Perhaps I'll buy a motorbike and ride it around town with a hot young French girl on the back of it, and she can massage me as we ride along…"

"Motorbike's are dangerous," Kate pointed out.

"I bet you've never even been on a motorbike," Tony teased.

"I have, actually."

"When?"

"High school. My boyfriend – the one I told you about, from my art class?"

Tony grinned. "The one called Tony?"

"Yes," Kate muttered, flicking Tony's ear lightly. "That one. Tony Indiana. He went to the school down the street from mine – the posh one that nobody in my school could afford to go to – and all the kids' names there were products or companies. You know, like Sullivan and Dawson Law or Harrison Pharmaceuticals. Tony always said that his dad owned the whole of Indiana, and that's where his name came from. He always smelt like motor oil, and he had this Harley that he absolutely adored…"

"What happened?" Tony grinned. "Did mommy and daddy disapprove of darling Katie riding around on the back of a motorbike?"

"Of course they did – would you approve if it were your fifteen year old daughter? That's not what happened though."

"What did happen?"

"He took a corner too fast, fell off the bike, hit his head and was killed," Kate said, quiet but matter of fact.

Tony looked at the floor, feeling guilty. "Oh," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"Didn't expect you too," Kate said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "It's okay."

"Do you miss him?" Tony asked, tugging Kate into his arms so she was lying against him.

"Sometimes…" Kate admitted. "It was a long time ago. When Gibbs says 'I don't believe in coincidences'… I was supposed to be on a date with him that night. I always wonder if I was there, if he would have slowed down, or if we would have gone a different route, or if I would have died as well, you know?"

"Why weren't you there?"

"Parents grounded me."

"What for?"

"Nothing… 'arguing too much' was the official reason, but it was just an excuse to stop me going out with Tony."

"I'm not glad he's dead," Tony said, kissing Kate on the top of her forehead and combing his fingers through her hair. "But I'm glad you were grounded."

"Why?"

"I don't believe in coincidences either."


	10. Chapter 10

Hi everyone. Once again, sorry this took so long. But I promise promise promise that I'll update this week, because I know exactly what's going to happen in the next chaptter (um, I mean, of course I know what's going to happen in all the chapters before I write them...)

I wrote a chapter to go between the last one and this, but I can't find it, so please excuse the jump in time. If I find it, I'll just change it around and put it in a later chapter. If not... well, I guess it will live happily ever after in fanfic heaven.

Also, I checked over this but I was in a rush to post it so if it's got any spelling mistakes or lines that don't make sense, just let me know and I'll fix it. It's quite short, too, but the next one will be longer. Oh, and there will probably be some more Jibbs pretty soon.

Anyway. Here goes.

* * *

Kate stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. It had been ten days since she and Tony had taken that walk on the bridge. Ten days since he'd kissed her. Ten days since they had lain under the covers together, hands clasped and hearts pounding, and Tony had covered her body with little kisses for no reason other than she was there and he felt like it. For ten days, her bed hadn't been slept in, her showers had been frequently interrupted by Tony walking into the bathroom – the lock for which he had still not fixed, despite Kate's firm protests that, dating or not, she wanted it done – and she had walked round the streets of Paris hand-in-hand with Tony and not felt awkward or shy or uncomfortable. Even their meetings with Stefan didn't seem so bad, now that she didn't need to worry about convincing him they were a couple. Tony was less annoying now – he had started putting effort into being nice to her, instead of winding her up, and he was a surprisingly sweet and attentive boyfriend. He didn't always get it right – he had tried to cook a romantic meal for the two of them the night before, and had wound up setting fire to the oven and ordering in a pizza – but that was fine, because it meant that she was special enough for him to try something he'd never done before. 

It was as if she and Tony were existing in a fairytale bubble, where everything was perfect and they lived happily ever after. Arguments were stopped before they even began, with both of them being too afraid to ruin this new-found romance with petty bickering, and anything that tried to encroach on their happiness, like work or Gibbs' endless video conferences, was given cursory attention and then dismissed. Kate knew it wouldn't – couldn't – last forever, she was perfectly aware that at some point, they would have a fight or something more important would come up, but for now, it was nice for everything to be so… easy. Kate thought she could remember every moment since that first kiss – every look, every touch, every whisper of 'you're beautiful' that had been pressed against her skin in the past ten days.

The rescheduled golf match with Stefan and co had taken place a few days ago. Before they left, Tony had wondered out loud whether anybody would notice a change between him and Kate – would their hands touch more often? Would they stand closer together? Or would they carry on as they had before, just with a new, more natural, atmosphere to it? But nobody noticed. At least, nobody commented. It had been, Tony announced upon their return to the apartment, the most fun he'd ever had on a golf course. For the first time in her life, Kate had played the bimbo for all she was worth, holding the golf club wrong and deliberately whacking the ball into shrubbery and sand traps, so Tony had an excuse to stand over her, his hips pressed against her ass, with his arms around her waist and his hands over hers, guiding her into hitting the ball in a semi-straight line. Of course, they lost pitifully, but that wasn't the point.

They had gone to the fair, with Gerard and Sophia and their daughter, and had successfully escaped the clutches of the screaming toddler under the guise of queuing for the big wheel. They had linked fingers over the picnic tables, feeding one another candyfloss and kissing the sugar off each other's lips, and Tony's perfect score on the shooting range won Kate a giant, slightly deranged-looking, purple and green zebra. They'd ridden the rickety old roller coaster, which had looked like it ought to be on a scrap heap and had prompted hours of 'Tony screams like a gi-irl, Tony screams like a gi-girl' chants from Kate. The fact that she had hidden her face in Tony's arm and broken the skin on his hand from holding on so tight was seemingly irrelevant.

There had been the day when Tony had gotten up before dawn, to put fresh strawberries and pink lemonade (it was too early for champagne, he said) out on the balcony so he and Kate could sit under a blanket and watch the sun rise. They'd made up for their early start the next day, by not budging from the bed until it was gone midday – and even then they only moved because Tony needed the bathroom.

It was as close to perfect as Kate could imagine any romance that didn't come straight from the pages of a children's fairytale – minus the terrorists, of course. There was only one thing that was hanging over it, and she'd managed to convince herself that it didn't matter, until now. Every time she thought of it, she felt sick to her stomach with an overwhelming sense of dread. She'd tried ignoring it, she'd tried reasoning with herself, she'd tried to forget about it. But she hadn't been able to. On the third day of her and Tony's sparkling new romance, she'd sworn to herself that she'd give it a week. Until the tenth day. Then she'd talk to Tony. She hadn't expected to actually have to have the conversation – a week had seemed like a lifetime, after all. She'd put if off as long as she could, but now it was eight o' clock at night on the tenth day and it couldn't be put off any longer.

Peering at the tiny medicine bottle in her hand, Kate swallowed. The glass, which had been cool to touch when she had dug it out of her handbag earlier, was now warm from contact with her skin, and if she made a fist, she couldn't see it. Kate ran her fingers through her hair – as if looking nice would make things easier – and went into the kitchen, her fingers curled around the bottle tightly. It was slick with sweat from her palms, and it was hard to grip. Kate knew she wouldn't be able to open it now, but that hadn't been her intention in the first place.

"Um, Tony?" Kate said, twisting the fabric of her sweater between her hands and looking at the floor. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure," Tony said, taking a large bite of his sandwich and dusting crumbs from his chest. "What?"

"It's important," Kate said softly.

Tony looked at for a moment, chewing on his mouthful, then realised what she meant. "Oh," he said, swallowing hard and putting the sandwich down on the plate, pushing it away and giving Kate his undivided attention. "What's up?"

"Um…" Kate took a deep breath. "Here."

Tony held his hand out, taking the bottle from Kate, feeling her clammy hands shake as he did so. He peered at the bottle in his hands. It was only about the height of his thumb, made of dark brown glass. It was about half full of pills – tiny white ones, the size of skittles. He knew they were pills that Kate had gotten from the doctor for headaches, when stress and not enough sleep meant that everyday aspirin didn't work. Her name was printed on the front, slightly off centre on the sticky white label, with the prescription printed underneath. Why Kate was giving them to him was beyond him.

"Can you read the back of it?" Kate asked, as if reading his mind.

Giving her a slightly confused glance, Tony turned the bottle over and squinted. The writing was tiny, smaller than it was on the front, and slightly smudged, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to decipher it without moving into the light.

"No," Tony said, hesitantly. "Why, what does it say? These are your tablets, right?"

"Yes," Kate said, holding her hand out for the pills. Tony handed them back to her. "It's just… I forgot…"

"Forgot what?" Tony asked.

"You can't take them if you're on the Pill," Kate whispered, leaning heavily against the door frame and hanging her head. "It stops it working. I took one the day before we…" she trailed off, then closed her eyes. "I took one. And now I'm late."

Tony glanced at his watch, frowning slightly.

"No," Kate said, shaking her head slightly as she saw him. "Not like that." Kate dragged herself over to the table and sat down, propping her chin in her hands and scratching the table with her fingernail. "Late."

"Oh…" Tony said, understanding flooding his features.

"Yeah," Kate murmured, sighing.

"Well… how late are you?" Tony asked, squirming. "A couple of days?"

"A week."

"And that doesn't normally… happen?"

"It never happens."

Tony squirmed uncomfortably. "It might be nothing," he said, hopefully. "You might have just gone on the skitz for some reason."

"I'm not a car, DiNozzo," Kate muttered, snapping her fingernail against the table and grimacing.

"You should tell Gibbs," Tony said, anxiously.

"No!" Kate looked up, her eyes wide. "No, Tony!"

"Well you can't work if you're pregnant!" Tony pointed out.

"I might not be!"

"But you think you are, don't you?"

"No," Kate mumbled, staring at the floor.

"Kate," Tony said gently. "Look at me." Kate dragged her eyes up towards Tony's and blinked. "You wouldn't be telling me if you didn't think you were, would you?"

Kate didn't have an answer to that. No, she wouldn't be telling him. She'd put off telling him for ten days, just in case. She'd given herself a long list of reasons as to why she couldn't be pregnant, but she hadn't been able to convince herself.

"I'll get you a pregnancy test," Tony said softly. "And then we'll tell Gibbs."

"I don't want to be pregnant," Kate whispered, burying her face in her arms.

"You could get an a-"

"Don't say it," Kate said, looking at Tony again and shaking her head. "I'm not doing that."

"Good," Tony whispered, taking Kate's hand and stroking his finger along the tiny trail of blood that was left from when she broke her nail. "I wouldn't want you to."

Kate squeezed Tony's hand. It was only a tiny little movement, a teeny gesture to acknowledge what he'd said. It couldn't show him how grateful she was that he'd said he didn't want her to get an abortion. She wouldn't have, even if he had asked her to, but the fact that he said he wanted to keep the baby had made the whole thing seem less of a tragedy and more of an… inconvenience. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Kate staring at the table, Tony staring through Kate at the wall behind her.

Tony stood up.

"I'll go see if there's anywhere I can get a pregnancy test," he said gently, prising his hand away from Kate's and stroking her. "I'll be back in a bit." Kate nodded, following him into the living room and sitting on the sofa to wait.

---

Tony shoved his hands deeper into his pockets in an attempt to keep them warm. His breath was rising up in front of him in smoke-like clouds, and the biting wind was making his cheeks sting. He had considered taking the car, but decided against it. The walk would clear his head, he had thought, and besides, he wanted to be as quick as possible. The roads were packed – it would be quicker to walk.

Ducking into the pharmacy, Tony rubbed his hands together to get some extra warmth in them and glanced around. He wasn't sure where he'd find the pregnancy tests. It wasn't something he bought on a regular basis. There was a woman sitting behind the counter, her hair scraped back into a tight bun, with a formidable scowl on her face. She didn't look very approachable, so asking was going to be a last resort. Deciding that standing in the doorway was doing nothing but making him look suspicious, Tony ran grabbed a basket from the stack in the entrance and strolled towards the far side of the shop as casually as he could manage. Walking past a row of toothbrushes, Tony paused. Hanging next to the various brands in the standard red, green and blue colours, there was a tiny little one, meant for a baby, in the shape of a giraffe. An image flashed into his head, of him standing in his bathroom with that toothbrush in one hand and a laughing baby in the other, while Kate looked on and smiled.

It was a nice image, full of happiness and love, and it almost made Tony drop the toothbrush into his basket there and then, but he decided against it. Instead, he grabbed two normal toothbrushes off the stand, in case the woman behind the desk thought he was crazy for staring at them for so long, and carried on in his vague little meander around the store. He could see now, out of the corner of his eye, a little sign indicating that the pregnancy tests were at the end of the aisle. He walked down as slowly as he could, examining all the other items for sale before he got there. He felt like he had the first time he'd gone into a pharmacy and bought a packet of condoms. He couldn't help thinking that he'd get to the counter, pregnancy test in hand, and he'd be ordered by that dragon-like woman to put it back because he wasn't old enough or something.

Taking a deep breath, Tony decided that the best way to deal with it was to get it over with. He made a beeline for the pregnancy tests and stopped in front of them. His heart sank. This wasn't going to be as simple as he had hoped. There were about seven different brands. There were blue boxes and pink boxes and white boxes and yellow boxes, lined up neatly, with claims of accuracy and ease of use scrawled over them in a mind-numbing mixture of percentages and pictures. Shaking his head, Tony grabbed the nearest four brands and threw them into the basket with the toothbrushes. Kate would probably know more about which brand than he would, and she couldn't complain if he gave her a choice. Heading to the counter before he chickened out, he paid for his goods and slung the carrier bag over his shoulder.

It was even colder outside than it had been when he had gone into the pharmacy, and Tony shivered. It seemed strange to think that the little sticks in his bag could change his life forever. He had always imagined that, if he got someone pregnant by accident, it would be somewhat reminiscent of the time he and Kate went to the DNA clinic. He had never, in his wildest imaginings, thought it would be Kate herself. He wondered if he should get her an engagement ring or something. It was a bit early to get married, but it was a bit early to have a kid, too, and he didn't want to be one of those fathers who paid alimony and saw their kid every second weekend. And Kate's family would hate him if they didn't get married. They'd hate him anyway, probably, but if he had to be the subject of their derogatory remarks at family get-togethers, he would prefer it to be for having sex before marriage than for being a no-good absentee father.

Though, maybe it would be better if he _was_ an absentee father. Kate could look after a baby fine – she wouldn't need him. He'd be the problem. He'd be the one who dropped the baby, or gave it a dummy that had been on the floor, or slipped it gummy bears to shut it up. If he was entirely honest, Tony couldn't remember whether he'd ever even held a baby or not. He'd certainly never held a baby _properly_. When he was a little boy, he had killed his pet goldfish within a week. And all he had to do was feed it. A baby would need to be fed, to be clothed and washed, to be watched every minute of every day lest it swallow a pebble or put its fingers in a socket. And then there was Kate – he wasn't sure he could be faithful. He wanted to be, he really did, but he didn't know how well he'd manage it. At least if Kate had no expectations that he would be there for her and the baby, she wouldn't be let down when he screwed up, and he wouldn't be responsible for breaking her heart. Kate and her baby deserved someone who would love them and, to be honest, he wasn't sure he could. He may be 'in love' with several girls a month, but when it came to it, Tony wasn't sure there was anybody alive who he actually, truly, loved. Not like Kate. She could rattle off dozens of people she loved – family and friends and sometimes boyfriends. And she still had the capacity to love a baby. Tony wasn't sure he had that in him.

A large splash of cold water landed on Tony's head, making him rub his hand over his hair and look up to the sky. It was beginning to rain. Another drop fell, and then another, and another, and within the space of a few seconds it had started to pour. Sheltering in the doorway of the nearest building, Tony realised he was in the doorway of the bar he and Kate had come to the other night.

Seating himself at the bar, rattling off excuses even as he did so that it was raining, and Kate wouldn't expect him back just yet, and he was only going to have one drink, Tony took off his coat and caught the attention of the bartender.

After two hours of nursing the same beer and staring miserably at the stains on the bar, Tony decided to go and face Kate. He'd thought about it from every angle, but all he could come up with was that the best thing to do would be to go back and tell Kate the truth. He'd just go to the apartment, explain to Kate that, although he cared about her very much, he would be a terrible father, so the best thing to do would be to call Gibbs, go home, take maternity leave, he'd see her in two and a half months and if she talked to a lawyer about child support and custody, he'd sign on the dotted line for whatever she wanted to make up for his lack of a backbone.

Tony paid his tab and headed back to the apartment, not bothered about the rain any more. It was in his shoes and trickling down his back, but even if he had noticed, he wouldn't have cared. He squelched through the lobby and into the elevator, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him as he walked down the hall to the apartment. As he went through the door, he saw Kate, still curled up where he had left her, fast asleep. Quietly, so as not to wake her, he closed the door and took his shoes off. As he reached up to hang up his coat, the shift of weight caused the floor to creak loudly, and Kate lifted her head. She blinked blearily for a second, before focusing on Tony and smiling.

As he saw her wake up, and look so happy to see him, Tony realised that the last thing in the world that he wanted was to put her on a plane home and reduce his involvement in her life and the life of their child to monthly cheques and birthday cards that Kate signed his name on. He wanted to stay with her – he never wanted to give up that look she just gave him.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice still a little husky from sleep.

"Hi," Tony smiled.

"You're all wet," Kate pointed out, sounding worried.

"It's raining. I'm okay. Are you alright?"

Kate nodded, stretching her legs out and reaching for Tony.

"I was worried about you," she said, pulling him onto the sofa as he went to her and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I, uh, I went to a bar," Tony admitted, hanging his head. He felt ashamed, now. He wished he had just come back to see Kate, instead of moping about in a bar. He'd got more benefit out of the minute he'd been here than he had in the whole two hours he'd spent in that bar.

"Oh," Kate whispered, pulling away and looking up at him. "Because of…?" she trailed off, tracing her finger over the pattern on the sofa.

"Kinda," Tony admitted, unable to meet Kate's eye.

"I'm sorry, Tony," Kate said, "I really am."

"I'm not," Tony said, transferring his gaze from the floor to Kate's face. "I'm not at all. I'm glad."

"Glad?" Kate whispered, staring at Tony.

"Yes," Tony said. "I wasn't, I admit. I was scared. I went out, and I didn't know what to do, and I got the test and I just wanted to run away, and I went to the bar and I came back here ready to tell you that I can't do it. That I'm not up to it, and I'm not capable of loving you or the baby enough to make it worth your while to deal with me, and that the best thing would be for you to do it without me. But then I came through the door and saw you asleep on the sofa, and then you woke up and smiled at me, and… I was glad."

"You got the test then?" Kate asked hesitantly, turning round to look at the plastic bag that Tony had deserted by the front door.

"You want to take it now?" Tony asked, squeezing Kate's hand.

Kate nodded.

"Take your pick," Tony said, fetching the bag and emptying the toothbrushes and the pregnancy tests onto the sofa.

Kate gazed at the wide selection for a moment, giving Tony a quizzical glance.

"Don't ask," he muttered. "Just pick one."

Kate reached for the nearest box, and glanced nervously towards the bathroom. "Well," she said, getting to her feet. "I guess I'll go do it then."

Tony nodded. He could see Kate's hands trembling as she clutched the box containing the pregnancy test, and wished he could do it for her.

"Um, I'll come with you to the door, if you want," he offered, and Kate nodded gratefully. She wasn't sure her legs would still work by themselves. Tony took her hand and they made their way to the bathroom. It only took a couple of seconds to get there, but it felt like miles.

Giving Tony a final wide-eyed glance, Kate squeezed his hand tightly and then let go, entering the bathroom and closing the door. Tony leant on the doorframe, biting his nails. He didn't normally bite his nails, but the thought of Kate taking a pregnancy test – a test for his baby – was the most nerve-wracking experience he had ever gone through. It was much, much worse than anything he'd ever done at NCIS or in Baltimore or Philly. Time passed – Tony wouldn't be able to stand up in court and say whether it was a minute or two or twenty – and the silence of the apartment, only broken by the ticking of the clock and the faint humming of the laptop and television, was shattered by Kate's voice.

"Tony?" she called, and he jerked upright immediately.

"Yes?" he replied. Surely it wasn't soon enough to have the result yet? Maybe it was.

"Erm, would you please not stand right outside the door? I, um, I can't do it with you hovering right there."

"Oh," Tony said. "Okay. Well… I'll just pace around for a bit, is that alright?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

Tony nodded, though he wasn't sure why, as Kate couldn't see him, and began pacing. He didn't stray too far from the bathroom – just in case Kate wanted him – but he made it about halfway to the bedrooms before he turned and headed towards the kitchen again. The time seemed to drag on endlessly, and Tony was seriously worried that he might go insane, so he started counting the times he passed the bathroom door. If he reached twenty, he'd go in there and see what the hell was taking Kate so long.

As he passed the door for the nineteenth time, it swung open and Kate appeared, pregnancy test in hand. She was pale, and looked like she might collapse, so Tony rushed to her side. It was a fight not to look at the test, but he thought it was Kate's right to tell him herself. When she didn't speak, he gave up trying to be honourable and peered at the test. Kate's hand was clasped around the screen, and he couldn't see a thing, so he hopped from foot to foot and stared anxiously at Kate's face, hoping to find some kind of sign there.

"Well?" he demanded, when he could bear it no longer.

"I can't do it," Kate admitted, handing Tony the blank test and going to the sofa.

"You can," Tony soothed, hovering behind her and stroking her hair. "It's better to get it over with, isn't it?"

"No, I can't… take the test."

"Oh," Tony said, glancing at the test in his hand and sighing. "Well… you could drink some water."

Kate nodded, and followed Tony into the kitchen. He fetched her a glass of water, and she sipped it.

"Don't sip it!" Tony protested. "Chuck it down!"

Kate glared, but swallowed the rest of the water as quickly as she could.

"More," Tony ordered, passing Kate another glass.

Eight glasses of water later, Tony was hopping around like a hyperactive child trying to play Musical Statues, and Kate was looking decidedly worse for wear.

"Another," Tony said, reaching for the glass.

"No," Kate protested, taking the glass away from him and putting it on the counter. "Enough. You've probably drowned the baby by now. I'm not drinking anymore."

Sighing, Tony went into the living room and dropped onto the sofa. Kate lay down next to him, her head nestled into his neck, and closed her eyes.

"I'm tired," she yawned, and Tony sat up quickly, jolting Kate out of the restful trance she was already drifting into.

"No," he said. "No. You are not going to sleep until you've taken that pregnancy test. I cannot wait until tomorrow for that information."

"I'm not going to sleep," Kate moaned, pulling him back down beside her and curling up against him. "I'm just resting."

"And I'm just putting the TV on really, really loud to keep you awake," Tony grinned, reaching for the remote and turning the TV on.

Twenty minutes later, Kate was squirming on the sofa.

"Tony," she pleaded. "I really, really need to go to the bathroom."

"No," Tony replied, holding her down. "Wait."

"Tony, I can't," Kate begged.

"Well I can't go through that stress again, just to be told that you didn't take the test. You're not moving until I can be sure you're going to pee on that stick."

"DiNozzo! I'm going to die in a minute!" Kate squealed, kicking as hard as she could.

"Don't exaggerate."

"Tony, please. It hurts."

Tony leapt off her immediately, and Kate shot into the bathroom, grabbing the pregnancy test from the coffee table as she went. Tony followed her, almost getting hit in the face by the door as he did so, and knelt down to peer through the tiny gap beneath the door. All he could see were the tiles, but it made him feel like he was doing more than waiting, somehow, so he stayed there. There was a pause, and he could hear Kate moving around in the bathroom, then quiet. Then, there was a soft tap at the door and Kate's voice, quiet and tense, trailed through.

"Four minutes," she said, and Tony set the countdown on his watch and got to his feet.

Kate sat down on the floor, her back to the door so Tony couldn't come in, and buried her face in her knees. She felt like she was in pieces, somehow split. Part of her wanted Tony to come in and hold her hand so they could wait together, and part of her wanted to be alone until she found out. Part of her wanted to fetch Tony in as soon as the four minutes were up, part of her wanted to find out first, and part of her wanted Tony to tell her. Mostly, though, she felt split because there were two halves of her that wanted very different results from the pregnancy test that was sitting beside the sink, just far back enough that she couldn't see the screen from where she was sitting, and they both wanted those results equally desperately.


	11. Chapter 11

Hey guys. Thank you so much for the amazing reviews (and really sorry to end it like that!)

Anyway, here's the new chapter. It's bit longer than last time. I'm not sure if you'll like it or not, but here you go.

* * *

Tony lay in bed, looking out of the open curtains at the moon. It was huge and glowing and it looked like if he just stretched out his fingers a little, he could touch it. It looked like he could hold in the palm of his hand, like a paper weight or a tennis ball, and throw it in the air and roll it round the floor and then hang it back in the sky and nobody would be any the wiser. Unless, of course, there was anyone else who couldn't sleep at three in the morning and was staring at the moon as well.

Kate shifted slightly beside him, and a chunk of hair fell over her face. She murmured – maybe a content sigh, maybe a reaction to some dream that was plaguing her – and Tony stroked the hair away from her face.

"Shh," he soothed, as she twitched her nose at his touch and whimpered slightly. "It's only me."

She mumbled softly, unconsciously turning her head towards his hand like a kitten nuzzling its owner, and he gently ran his hand over her forehead. Tony trailed his hand down away from Kate's face and rested it on her stomach. Slipping his hand under the thin cotton of her t-shirt, Tony tugged it up so it bunched around the bottom of her ribcage and placed his hand over her stomach. Kate twitched slightly as he brushed her waist, but didn't move. Tony smiled to himself in the darkness as he felt Kate's stomach rise and fall as she breathed. Under his thumb, he could feel the slight thrumming of a pulse near Kate's hip. He knew it was impossible, but he could imagine it was the heartbeat of their baby. It was a nice thought.

Sighing heavily, Tony eased himself away from Kate and crept out of the bed, making sure she was still covered by the duvet, before making his way to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water. Sipping it carefully and looking around the kitchen, he noticed the glasses that were still left out from when he'd made Kate drink all that water earlier on, and the half-eaten sandwich still sitting on the plate on the table. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he'd sat at that table eating that sandwich, before Kate came in and said she needed to speak to him. He supposed that, in a way, it _was_ a lifetime ago.

When they got the results of the pregnancy test, Kate had cried. A lot. Tony's watch had beeped, signifying the end of the four minutes, and he had waited as patiently as one could in that situation until he could bear it no longer and had gone into the bathroom, where he had found Kate sitting on the floor. She had asked him to read her the results, because she was too scared to look, and, sensing that now was not the time to upset Kate's delicate emotional state by making a joke about not wanting to touch a used pregnancy test, he had read her the result. Then she cried. First, she stayed on the floor and cried into her knees. Then, when her shoulders had stopped shaking and her gasping had stopped, Tony had crouched down next to her and she'd fallen against his chest and sobbed again. It took a good ten minutes before she was capable of forming a comprehensible sentence. And then she'd cried again, when they were sitting in the living room and Tony pointed out that people would have to be told, plans put in place. She cried when he asked her if she wanted a boy or a girl, and when he said that he wasn't naming it after a fruit or the place it was conceived or anything else ridiculous, and she cried when he had said they could move into a proper house together, 'with other kids next door, and a garden and a swing set and a golden retriever called Jethro'. She cried when he kissed her stomach and whispered 'goodnight baby, goodnight mommy' into her navel, she cried when he asked her what was wrong, and she cried when he held her tightly and stroked her back until she fell asleep. She cried so much Tony was surprised she hadn't collapsed with dehydration. He was amazed one person could cry so much in one day – he hadn't cried since he was seven years old.

Tony had spent the last few hours dealing with Kate. He'd held her close and rocked her like a child when she clutched at him, and he'd sat in the armchair and watched from a distance when she pulled away from him and asked to be left alone. When he went to make a cup of coffee and Kate had gotten clingy, he'd held her hand and gone about making the coffee one handed while Kate trailed behind him with her breath all hitched from crying. Everything, since Tony had picked up the pregnancy test, had been about Kate. About making sure she was alright, and getting her to tell him what doctor's appointments she would need and when, so he could write it down ready to make the appointments the next day, and working out whether she would be able to stay on the mission or if she would have to go home. Not that Tony minded looking after Kate like that, he didn't, but it seemed like he hadn't had time to process the whole thing himself yet. Even though he had known there was a possibility – a likelihood, even – that Kate was pregnant, until he read the result of the test it had all seemed somewhat hypothetical.

With a slight frown, Tony ran his hand through his hair. He had never really pictured himself with kids. He had imagined himself way, way into the future, maybe coaching a son on how to get lucky or counselling a daughter on college applications, but he had never thought of children. Running alongside a six year old on a bike with the training wheels newly removed, for instance, or tying a balloon to the belt loops of a toddler.

Tony looked around the room again and decided that a bit of a clear up mission wouldn't go amiss. He had nothing better to do, after all – he couldn't sleep, he was too antsy to watch TV, and waking Kate up was a definite no-no. Tony opened the dishwasher, putting glasses inside and being careful not to clank them together too loudly and disturb Kate. He worked slowly – he was trying to waste his energy so he could sleep again, and while dragging out an already tedious task wasn't exactly entertaining, it was better than racing through it to get it over with and then finding himself with nothing to do – but when he was finished, he still didn't feel like he'd be able to sleep. Giving a resigned sigh, Tony looked to the laptop. It had to be done, after all. And sooner rather than later, at that. It wasn't something that could be put off.

Tony opened the laptop and keyed in the request for a video conference with MTAC. Within a couple of seconds, MTAC flashed up on screen. It always felt slightly surreal, looking at the room from this angle. Seeing all the chairs and the back wall, instead of the giant screens, made Tony feel like he was somehow on display. The fact that he knew he was at least four times taller on the huge screen than he really was didn't help, either. Following the instructions of the MTAC technicians, Tony waited for a couple of minutes while Gibbs was called. With a bit of luck, he'd be out of the office and would be stuck in traffic for a long, long time. Nine months would be nice.

No such luck. Minutes later, Gibbs was standing in front of the screen, sipping a cup of coffee and flanked by the director. Wonderful, Tony thought. Just great. Not only was he going to have to confess to Gibbs, he was going to have to spill the beans to the director as well. Not that he wouldn't find out, obviously, just that Tony had assumed it would be Gibbs who told him, not Tony himself. Gibbs may not approve – he may burst several blood vessels, actually – but everyone knew he'd stand by his team no matter what. Tony had a strong suspicion that the consequences would be a lot less dreadful if the director heard the news from Gibbs instead of him.

"What are you doing up so early?" Gibbs asked by way of greeting.

"Nice to talk to you too, Boss," Tony replied.

Gibbs stared at Tony for a minute or two, in silence, and Tony swallowed thickly.

"Well?" Gibbs prompted. "What do you want, DiNozzo?"

"Could I talk to you in private?" Tony asked. He expected a no, but it was worth a try. To his surprise, the director nodded and, after a few words to Gibbs, left the room. A couple of glares from Gibbs scattered the few agents who were already in the room, and when they were alone – or alone as they could be in a room with technicians and microphones – Gibbs nodded to Tony.

"Go on then," he said.

Tony suddenly wondered if it had really been such a good idea to have this conversation alone. People meant witnesses, after all, and although Tony was fairly sure that even if it was scientifically possible to fire a bullet at a screen and have it actually kill the person on the other side, Gibbs wouldn't have the knowledge necessary to do so, he still felt slightly anxious.

Pausing for a moment to find the words (and the courage) Tony took a deep breath and opened his mouth. The voice that he heard, however, was not his.

"Tony?"

Tony's head jerked up, and he saw Kate in the doorway, blinking in the light and her brow slightly furrowed, nibbling on her thumbnail.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly. Her voice was still a little scratchy from all the crying and being asleep, and, with her hair mussed, she looked, Tony thought, adorable. "Can you come back to bed?"

"I was, uh, just talking to Gibbs," Tony said, gesturing at the laptop.

"Oh," Kate whispered, staring at the laptop.

"Something the two of you would like to share?" Gibbs growled.

Tony winced.

"Can I talk to him?" Kate asked suddenly.

Tony looked up. Leaving this highly unpleasant task to Kate wasn't something he wanted to do – especially when she was tired and emotional. But he also wasn't sure that denying her what she wanted, even if it was something as not-fun as this, was something he was capable of doing right now.

"Sure," Tony said, pushing the laptop towards Kate. "You want me to stay here?"

"No," Kate said, shaking her head. "Thank you."

Tony nodded, before reluctantly leaving the room and mouthing 'good luck' to Kate over the top of the computer. He made his way back to the bedroom, flopping down on top of the covers and staring at the ceiling. He folded his arms behind his head, worrying about how Kate was faring in the kitchen. He wasn't aware of falling asleep, but the next thing he knew, Kate was kneeling over him and shaking his shoulder.

"Tony," she whispered, wiping her eyes. "Wake up."

Tony sat up, shaking his head slightly.

"Sorry," he groaned, when he realised he'd fallen asleep.

"I, erm, I talked to Gibbs," Kate said, looking at the floor as a tear slid off her nose and landed on the duvet.

"And did the two of you set an execution date?" Tony asked. "Or are you just going to spring it on me when I least expect it?"

"I talked him out of it." Kate smiled faintly. "You owe me."

"And are you alright?" Tony checked, reaching out and squeezing Kate's hand, tugging her so she lay down beside him. "Did he make you cry?" Kate shook her head. "Come on, Kate, what did he say to you?"

"Nothing. Nothing bad. He was just mad. He just…"

"He just what? What did he say?"

"Nothing, Tony. It doesn't matter."

"It does. Tell me."

"He said…"

"He said what?"

"He said he expects it of you but I should know better, and he expected better from me, 'specially after the thing in the Secret Service." Kate's breath caught in her throat as she fought back more tears.

Tony kissed Kate's head. "Don't pay any attention to him, Kate."

"But he's right, though, isn't he? He thinks I'm a slut!"

"You're not. And what does he know? He's been married three times."

"He wants to talk to you," Kate sniffed.

"Now?"

"I guess," Kate nodded.

Tony gave Kate's earlobe a gentle kiss, then rolled off the bed and headed for the kitchen. He hung back before approaching the laptop, but made his way over there with a sense of grim determination.

"Kate's crying," Tony accused, before Gibbs could speak. "Because of you."

"I didn't intend to make her cry."

"Well you did."

"Well next time the two of you are in bed together, you can tell her that I didn't mean to," Gibbs growled.

Tony swallowed. "She thinks you think she's a slut. And she thinks you're mad at her." His voice wasn't so challenging now. Gibbs last comment had knocked some of the wind out of his sails.

"I don't think that at all."

There was a long, long pause.

Gibbs surveyed Tony for a second or two, as if choosing his words carefully. That was disturbing enough in itself – Gibbs wasn't the kind of man who put careful consideration into his phrases. He called it as he saw it, and he could always be relied upon to be honest. Often brutally so.

"So Kate's pregnant," Gibbs finally said, slowly and calmly. He took a sip of his coffee, and looked at Tony as if he was expecting a response.

"Yeah," Tony nodded, looking at the floor and turning pink. He felt like a little boy in the principle's office, justifying what he'd done, and it was a horrible feeling. He snuck a look at Gibbs, whose expression was still calm, looking as if he was waiting for the rest of Tony's explanation. "I didn't mean to, Boss," Tony said.

"I know. Kate told me what happened."

Tony nodded, then looked at the floor again. He didn't really have anything to say.

"She's having a baby, then," Gibbs said, in a tone that implied it was as casual a comment as 'you went to the park, then'.

"She is," Tony nodded. "So am I," he added, looking up. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to add that little sentence onto the end – he would have hoped Gibbs thought enough of him to assume it. Just in case, though.

"And how do you feel about that?" Gibbs questioned.

Tony blinked. That was a remarkably personal question, coming from Gibbs, and he was surprised that he cared enough to ask. He didn't have to ask it – it wasn't a vitally important part of the transcript. Gibbs could easily get through the next nine months not knowing how Tony felt about the situation at all.

"I don't know."

"Yes you do," Gibbs corrected.

"It'll sound corny," Tony mumbled, toeing the ground and turning redder. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd admitted that to Gibbs – he could have lied. Gibbs would have known, but he wouldn't have pressed. Somehow, though, this didn't seem like the time for lies.

"I won't tell anyone," Gibbs shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Lucky," Tony mumbled, after a few seconds.

"You are," Gibbs said softly. Tony looked at Gibbs, and thought he saw a flicker of pain cross his features, but he only caught a glimpse before Gibbs sipped his coffee, and when he lowered the cup his face was fixed again. "Tony, I want to talk to you about something. And I don't want you to tell Kate. Or anybody else for that matter."

Tony nodded, and closed the kitchen door for privacy. He settled himself at the table, ready to listen to what Gibbs had to say.

He listened quietly while Gibbs told him of his first real undercover assignment – more than just prancing around the streets with a hat and binoculars, a real assignment where he had a new name and a new life and lived as someone else until the case was closed, like Tony was doing now. A _lot_ like Tony was doing now. Tony's eyes widened as Gibbs told him about Jen – his partner back in the day, just like Kate was Tony's partner. In Paris. Paris, Gibbs said, was a very strange place. It had catalytic powers and made sordid, secret love affairs seem like the best idea on the planet. There was something about it that made beautiful women even more beautiful, and more seductive, and more irresistible, until even the most rational of men (at that point, Tony had to stifle a snigger at the idea of Gibbs being 'rational') threw caution to the wind and acted on impulse. Jen was beautiful, Gibbs told Tony. She had long red hair and a sparkling smile and a knowing, indulgent flicker that appeared in her eyes whenever her over-enthusiastic, puppy-like partner went head over heels after something or another. Tony listened in true fascination as Gibbs told tales of arrests, and fleeing the police, and generally creating havoc across Europe while still, somehow, keeping their jobs and their lives and, for a long time, their relationship, intact.

"What happened?" Tony asked, when Gibbs came to a pause. He had the feeling that this story didn't have the happiest of endings. He would have liked to believe that if he went to the bullpen in a couple of months time, and waited for that redhead to appear and smile at Gibbs, he could yell 'Jen!' and she'd turn around in response, but something about Gibbs tone of voice and his demeanour made him look sort of sad, like there wasn't a storybook ending, even if the beginning was straight from the pages of a children's adventure.

"She was a good agent," Gibbs replied, after sipping his coffee and remaining silent for such a long time that Tony thought he wasn't going to answer. "She was a very good agent. She was a lot like Kate, actually. Feisty and strong and very, very capable. She had to be – back then, there weren't a lot of women in NCIS. Even less than there are now. She got a promotion – well deserved and the first, I'm sure, of many – and she took it."

"Why?" Tony asked. "No promotion could be better than running away from the police with you and Ducky!"

"She didn't tell me why," Gibbs said.

"Why not?"

"We weren't exactly together at the time. Our relationship was great when we were in Europe, or even undercover in the States. But the second we got back to NCIS… well, just ask Ducky," Gibbs gave a wry smile.

"Do you miss her?"

"Yep."

Tony nodded. "Gibbs?" he asked, a couple of seconds later.

"Tony?"

"Do you think that will happen to me and Kate?"

"I think there wasn't a baby involved when it happened to me and Jenny," Gibbs answered.

"That's, uh, that's not a simple answer, Boss."

"Well it wasn't a simple question, DiNozzo."

"Do you think that if you had married her, you'd only have been married once?" Tony asked.

Gibbs didn't answer, and this time Tony could tell that he really wasn't going to get a response.

"I should go check on Kate," Tony said softly, unwilling to leave the room and conversation and end the fragile bond that had filtered between him and his boss over the past half hour. Gibbs nodded. "Boss… thanks for telling me about you and Jen."

"Just bear it in mind, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied.

Tony would bear it in mind. He didn't feel, now, like Gibbs was disappointed in him or angry with him. He felt like they were comrades, in a way, beyond the obvious 'I've got your back, you've got mine' kind of thing they had going on in the field. He felt that Gibbs was proud of him, almost, for sticking with Kate and not running off to hide out in the nearest brothel to recover some of his sanity. Plus, Gibbs had told him about Jen. It had explained a lot, actually – like why Ducky had mentioned history repeating itself, and why Gibbs had been so strange when they first arrived in Paris. Gibbs didn't have to tell him that story, nor did he have to go into so much detail. He was sharing a personal part of himself with Tony, and that made Tony feel like his equal. And, feeling as out of his depth as he did right now, that was somewhat reassuring.

"I will," Tony nodded. "Bye -"

"Tony," Gibbs interrupted.

"Yeah?"

"Don't do anything stupid," he said. "You don't know how lucky you really are. Don't screw it up."

"I won't," Tony answered. "I promise. I won't."

Gibbs nodded, and ducked his head a little. "And, uh, you can tell Kate that I didn't mean what I said to her. And that I don't want her to cry because of it." Before Tony could say anything, the laptop turned blank again. Which was probably a good thing – that, he supposed, was as close to an apology as anyone was ever going to get from Gibbs, and if he started handing out farewells as well, Tony would have to alert the White House that aliens were taking over NCIS.

Tony returned to the bedroom, and paused as he reached the doorway. Kate was fast asleep, lying on top of the duvet, her dark hair fanning out over the pillow. Her top had ridden up a little, and Tony could make out a few inches of bare, flat stomach between the stripy fabric of her pyjama trousers and her cotton t-shirt. Tony wondered how long it would take before her stomach would start to swell, so everyone who looked at her would see the curve of her belly and know she was pregnant. Right now, it felt like a delicious little secret that only a select few got to know. Kate murmured in her sleep and shifted her legs slightly, and Tony grinned. He liked watching Kate sleep. Since they got together he'd found himself staying awake until Kate had fallen asleep, and then just staring her. She looked peaceful when she slept. Peaceful and innocent and young. They'd played a game once, him and Kate and McGee and Abby, in Abby's lab one summer lunchtime when it had been too hot to do anything but sprawl out on the cool floor and make pointless conversation.

Abby had started it.

"What do you think Gibbs would be," she'd asked, slurping her caffpow, "If he didn't work at NCIS?"

"President," Kate had piped up immediately, holding her can of coke to her forehead to cool herself down.

"Insane," Tony suggested.

"A retired Marine, probably," McGee had said, and Abby threw an empty caffpow at him.

"Don't be boring, McGee," she ordered.

"Just saying," McGee had muttered, holding his hands up in defence.

"What would Probie be?" Tony had grinned, watching him fidget as everyone turned to stare at him while they considered it.

"Designer of McGee's Super Duper Magic Computer," Abby said. "It would do _everything_. Like a robot. He'd be richer than Bill Gates."

"Nah," Tony scoffed. "He'd be an IT teacher."

"What about Ducky?" Kate had grinned. "What would he be?"

"Lost in a jungle somewhere," Tony said. "Trying to find his way back to the ancient tribe of the mgmgmas."

"No he wouldn't," Abby had frowned. "He'd be a school bus driver."

Abby would be a tattoo artist, they had decided. Tony, by unanimous vote, would be a porn star. Kate, much to her disgust, would be a lawyer.

"Why do I have to be a lawyer?" she'd groaned.

"Because," Abby replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "It's really professional."

It was fitting, Tony remembered thinking. Kate was professional. She'd been professional since day one, when she was still Secret Service, and she'd been professional all the time she was at NCIS. It was probably on her birth certificate – 'Caitlin Todd: Professional.' Maternity leave would kill her. When she was asleep, though, she didn't look professional at all. She just looked normal. And, in Tony's not-so-humble opinion, really, really cute.

She turned over, her hair falling over her face, and Tony walked to her side. He covered her over with the comforter that was folded at the end of the bed, and stroked her hair from her face. He lay down beside Kate, carefully draping his arm over her body and pressing himself against the warmth of her back, and tucked her head under his chin so she was cradled right up close to him. She smelt good, so he buried his nose into the top of her head and breathed in deeply.

When Tony woke up a couple of hours later, feeling more drained than if he'd not gone to bed at all, Kate wasn't in his arms anymore. Immediately worried, Tony sat up and was relieved to see that she was asleep a couple of feet away, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed and her foot sticking out of the edge of the duvet. Concerned she was going to fall, Tony reached out and rolled her back into the centre of the bed. The movement woke her, and she lifted her head sleepily. Tony felt a jab of pain as he saw that her cheeks were still streaked with tears from the night before.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Kate smiled at him, yawning widely, and Tony bit his lip hesitantly.

"Are you, erm, feeling okay today?" he asked.

"I feel fine," Kate smiled sleepily. "Morning sickness doesn't start for a while, you know. And trust me, when I get it, I'll let you know."

"I'll look forward to it," Tony groaned. "But I actually meant are you… you know… unhappy?"

"You mean am I going to cry again?" Kate teased. Tony nodded. "Not right now," she said. "Things don't look so bad this morning."

"My grandmother always said things would look better in the morning," Tony nodded. "And they always do."

"You can pass that nugget of information on to your own baby, then," Kate smiled.

Tony grinned, pulling Kate towards him and kissing her.

"Eeww," Kate protested, pulling away from Tony's mouth and wrinkling her nose. "You have morning breath!"

"So?" Tony laughed, reaching for Kate again.

"So no kissing until you brush your teeth!" Kate giggled.

"We can go shopping today," Tony offered. "If you want to. And buy baby clothes."

"It's meant to be bad luck to buy things before the baby's born, you know," Kate said, sitting up and stroking one hand over her stomach. "My sister wrote a list before she had her first baby, and while she was in labour her husband had to go round Mothercare buying everything. They didn't even have a cot."

"Are you going to do that?"

"No way," Kate laughed. "It's just a stupid superstition, I don't believe it. Besides, when I'm in labour, you're staying right there so I can scream at you."

"Good," Tony said, sneaking a kiss before Kate could protest again. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Kate curled up against Tony, holding his hand and resting her head on his chest.

"Can I tell you something?" she whispered.

"Of course."

"I'm scared."

"What of?"

"That it will hurt."

Tony stroked Kate's hair softly, holding her close to him while she nibbled on her lip nervously and looked up at up, trying to gage his reaction to the news that though she could be as tough and as gutsy as anything when it came to being smacked around by terrorists or held hostage, or staring down gunmen, when it came to something like this she was not, in fact, infallible.

"Well," Tony said, twirling a strand of hair around his fingers and watching it curl. "You don't need to be scared. I'll make sure it doesn't hurt."

"How?"

"Jeez, give me a minute!" Tony rolled his eyes. "You've only just told me. I'm not sure yet. But we've got nine months, and I'll figure it out."

Kate laughed. "Alright," she said. "Just make sure you do!"

By the time they got out of bed and were both showered and clothed, it was lunchtime. Tony, who had apparently taken it upon himself to do the cooking now, made Kate sit at the table while he prepared their lunch.

"I can do something to help, Tony," Kate pointed out, as he rushed around.

"No. A woman in -"

"If you say a woman in my condition, DiNozzo, you won't live to see this baby's first ultrasound, let alone the real thing."

Tony made a face, but still refused to let Kate help him. In a way, Kate was glad. It was quite nice, being waited on hand and foot. Even if Tony did burn the food. Over lunch, they discussed what they were going to do when they went back home. Tony was reluctant, at first, to discuss anything about the baby – he didn't want to set Kate off crying again – but he needn't have worried. Kate smiled and laughed the whole way through the conversation. They didn't actually agree on anything, but that didn't matter. Tony was just glad that Kate wasn't crying anymore.

Tony went to the supermarket in the afternoon. Kate nearly fainted when he said he was going out to buy some groceries, but he managed to convince her that he would manage. Kate made him a list, still slightly in shock, and Tony made his way to the supermarket. He got lost a couple of times trying to find the place, but he got there in the end. However, as he stepped inside and consulted his list, neatly drawn up for him in Kate's pretty handwriting, he realised something he hadn't taken into account.

Supermarkets were huge.

At home, Tony ate takeout. Or he ate at work. Or at a girl's apartment. He had the basics, but he bought them from the small shop at the end of his road, that was run by a nice Indian man whose wife sometimes gave him leftover curry in a tub to thank him for his loyal business. He very rarely stepped foot into a supermarket. He never went in alone, or paid attention to his surroundings. And he didn't have the faintest idea how to get round one quickly or efficiently. He considered ringing Kate, to ask her to come down and help him navigate his way between the rows and rows of food, but he wanted to prove to her – and himself – that he could do it. And he didn't want to make her come out – that had been the whole point of doing it himself – so Kate could rest. Besides, he had the car. He was well and truly stuck.

_Be a man, DiNozzo, _he ordered himself._ If you can buy a pregnancy test, you can do the grocery shopping._

He selected a trolley, battling to push it in a straight line but eventually managing to bring it more or less under control, and eyed the list. Yoghurt, Kate had written. Okay. That couldn't be too hard… Tony made his way to the dairy section, giving the trolley an angry kick to get it to move properly. He wasn't prepared for the vast quantity of yoghurt that he had to choose from, though. There were brands and flavours and variations, and he didn't have a clue what kind Kate would want. There was low-fat, but he didn't want to get that because she might take it the wrong way, but if he bought full fat she might not eat it. Some had bits of real fruit in them, which he guessed Kate would probably approve of, but they all looked pretty unappetising. Even the plain yoghurt came in about ten different styles. Giving up on making an informed decision, Tony just grabbed a handful of tubs and dropped them into the trolley. He'd just come back with specifics if Kate didn't like them.

The rest of the trip was equally was confusing and unsuccessful. Barely anything Kate had written down was actually specific, leaving Tony to work out which brand or variety he should get, and it didn't help that the damn trolley never went where he wanted it to and he kept crashing it into other people. By the time he reached the till, he had been in the supermarket for three hours to buy two bagfuls of food and was well and truly stressed out. He was worried about Kate – he hadn't meant to leave her alone for that amount of time, and even though he was sure she'd ring him if there was a problem, he wanted to get back and make sure she was alright – and he was getting extremely irritated with the woman in line in front of him, who was taking her time packing her shopping away and seemed totally oblivious to the fact that she was blocking the way for other people who might actually be in a hurry.

Finally, he made it back to his car with the shopping complete and his sanity more or less intact. He grabbed his phone to let Kate know he was on his way home, and dialled the number. She didn't pick up. He guessed she must be in the bathroom or something, so he hung up. He pulled out of the parking lot, driving towards the exit, and hit redial. Still, there was no answer, just his own cheerful voice announcing in French then English that neither he nor Kate could come to the phone right now, but would call back ASAP if he would please leave a message after the beep.

"Hi Kate," he said, as soon as he connected to the answer machine. "It's me. Why aren't you picking up? I'm on my way back, anyway. So, uh, I guess I'll see you in a little while. Bye."

He hung up, making a face and dropping the phone onto the passenger seat. He hated leaving messages on the answer machines, it made him feel awkward. He was always painfully aware that he was talking to a machine and nobody was on the other end. As he drove along, worrying about Kate and imagining all sorts of horrific scenarios as to why she wasn't picking up the phone, ranging from slipping over in the shower and lying unconscious on the bathroom floor to Stefan and Gerard appearing and dragging her away to hold her hostage, he was in such a trance that he didn't even realise he'd arrived back at the apartment.

Making his way inside, dragging the groceries behind him, he rushed up to the apartment. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open, wishing he had a gun, expecting to find bloodstained walls and Kate missing. To his surprise – and great relief – Kate was sitting on the sofa, a blanket tucked around her shoulders, watching the TV.

"Jeez," Tony muttered, feeling an inexplicable rush of annoyance replace his fear. "Answer the phone next time, will you? I was worried."

"Sorry," Kate muttered, picking at the pattern on the blanket.

Tony glared at her and went into the kitchen to dump the groceries. He returned to the lounge, switching the lights on.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" he asked.

Kate didn't answer him, and when he looked at her he saw that her eyes were red and there were streaks of mascara down her cheeks.

"Kate?" he asked, joining her on the sofa and taking one of her hands. It was trembling. "Are you alright?"

"I don't feel good," she said softly.

"What's wrong?" Tony asked.

"My stomach hurts," Kate replied, resting her head on Tony's chest.

Tony stroked a hand down to Kate's stomach, rubbing it gently.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. "Or is it just from being pregnant?"

"Nothing's wrong," Kate said. "It just hurts."

Tony massaged Kate's stomach softly, kissing her forehead and holding her tightly. They stayed like that for several minutes, not talking or moving, just curled up next to one another.

"Hey," Tony said, after a while. "You know who we haven't told about this baby?"

"Everyone except Gibbs?" Kate pointed out.

"Well, yeah. But I mean someone specific. She'll be very happy to find out, I think…"

"Abby?"

"You wanna call her and let her know?"

Kate nodded, grinning. Tony got his feet, offering Kate his hand and helping her up off the sofa.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Kate said, squeezing Tony's hand. "I'll be there in a second."

Tony kissed Kate quickly, before making his way to the kitchen and starting up the laptop. A few hastily keyed in instructions and, within seconds, Abby was on the screen bouncing and squealing with joy.

"Tony!" she squealed, throwing her arms around Bert and squeezing him tight. "You have no idea how much self-control is going into not hugging my computer right now!"

Tony laughed. "Hey Abby," he grinned. "You having fun?"

"Not as much fun as I would be if I was in Paris with you guys. Gibbs is a slave driver, you know. Now you're not here he's making McGee do more work, which means I'm doing more work without his help. I hope you feel guilty. And all our cases suck at the moment."

"Do they ever not?" Tony asked.

"Well, no. You got any good news for me?"

Kate appeared in the doorway, rubbing her red eyes, and Tony grinned at her.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Kate's here, she'll tell you."

"What?" Abby asked, hopping up and down with excitement. "What? I don't see Kate… what's going on?"

Tony turned the laptop so Abby could see Kate, and laughed at the squeal of joy that followed. The concern that laced Abby's tone in her next sentence, however, was not what Tony had expected.

"Are you alright?" Abby asked.

Tony turned round in time to see Kate shake her head and then burst into tears, turning against the doorpost and bringing her arms up, burying her face in them.

"Tony!" Abby wailed. "Do something!"

"Call you back, Abs," Tony promised, slamming the laptop shut and racing over to Kate's side. "Hey," he said softly, resting a hand on her shoulder. Kate shrugged away from him, hiding her face against her arms again. "Kate, what's wrong?" Tony pleaded. "Tell me, I'll make it better."

"You _can't_," Kate sobbed.

"I can," Tony swore, tugging Kate to his chest and holding her tightly. She struggled against him, but he was stronger and he didn't let go. Eventually Kate stopped thrashing around and just flopped her head against his chest.

"Let me go," she pleaded.

"No," Tony said.

"Please!"

"I'll let you go if you tell me what's wrong."

Kate shook her head, and garbled something incomprehensible into his shirt. Tony couldn't understand a word of what she was going on about, so he just let her cry against him and held her, even when her tears soaked through his shirt and he could feel the wetness of her tears against his skin. She grabbed onto his arm, too, digging her nails into his skin like she thought he might float away if she didn't cling on tight. It hurt at first, but Tony didn't say anything, and after a while the spots she was scratching just went numb. Eventually, she stopped crying, and just hung against him. Tony risked tilting her head up, and when she met his eyes he thought it would break his heart.

"Tell me," he whispered, as she averted her gaze.

Kate took a long, deep, shuddery breath and shook her head.

"I thought you were happy again?" Tony asked, as Kate hid her face once again in his shirt. "I thought you just had stomach ache? You were all smiley a minute ago, you were going to tell Abby you're pregnant and -"

"I'm not."

"Well, I can tell, but why? I thought -"

"No, I'm not… I'm not pregnant."

Tony frowned.

"You are," he said.

"I'm not. I just got my period."

"But we did a pregnancy test," Tony protested. "I read it, it said you were pregnant."

"I'm sorry Tony," Kate whispered, tears welling up in her eyes again.

Tony squeezed Kate tightly, until she gasped, then he let her go a little. "It's not your fault," he said, resting his head on top of Kate's and breathing in her scent. "Don't be sorry."

Kate sighed heavily, running her fingers over the bruises she had made on Tony's arm.

"I didn't mean to do that," she murmured.

"I know. It doesn't hurt."

"Sorry."

"It's okay, Kate."

"I'm still sorry."

"Okay."

Kate slid her arms around Tony's waist and leant against him, letting him support her weight and keep her on her feet. She was shaking all over – Tony could feel her trembling. She wasn't crying though, and Tony supposed she couldn't have any tears left by now.

"Are you hungry?" Tony whispered into the top of Kate's head, some immeasurable amount of time later when he felt like he could think straight again.

"No." Kate's voice was muffled against his body, but he could still hear her.

"Do you want me to run you a bath?"

"No."

"Do you want to go to bed?"

"No."

Tony nodded, and held Kate tighter. All those other times, when she'd been crying, he'd wished she'd stop. Now he wished she'd cry again, because he could handle that and he knew how to make it better. He didn't know how to deal with total silence. It scared him.

Eventually, he persuaded Kate to go to bed. He took her into his bedroom and waited while she got changed, then lay down beside her and held her tightly until her breathing turned soft and slow and her eyes fell shut. Only when he was sure Kate was fast asleep and wasn't about to wake up did he allow himself to leave her. He went into the kitchen, because the groceries were in there and they needed to be put away before he did anything else, and he didn't have anything better to do anyway.

The yoghurt and the milk had probably gone off by now, but he put them in the fridge anyway. The ice-cream had half-melted, but that would freeze again. Everything else would be fine. He put away all the fruit, making sure to wash it first, and he packed away all the tins and boxes in the cupboards until his arms ached from reaching up so much. When all the food was put away, he dug around in the bottom of the bag and pulled out the velvety soft toy giraffe he'd picked up on a whim halfway round the supermarket. He couldn't get what Kate had told him that morning out of his head, about it being bad luck to buy things before the baby was born. He knew it was a silly superstition, Kate didn't even believe it so why should he? And it wasn't like Kate had had a miscarriage – there hadn't even been a baby in the first place. But he still couldn't help wondering whether it might have been different if he hadn't bought the giraffe. His throat was sore, and he was tired even though it wasn't that late, and Kate would probably wake up soon if he didn't go back to her, so Tony squeezed the giraffe tight in his hand and dropped it back in the bag, balling it up and hiding at the back of the cupboard behind the cookies and the biscuits where he knew Kate wouldn't find it.

He was tired but he didn't feel like going to bed just yet, so Tony went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The lock still wasn't fixed – he'd have to do something about that, soon, or Kate would get really mad. In the bin under the sink he could see the pregnancy test from the day before, and the box and the instructions were still sitting on the worktop. He'd have to get rid of that, he noted to himself, before Kate got up in the morning and saw it.

Throwing his clothes in a heap on the floor and stepping into the shower, Tony sighed. The hot water felt good against his skin, and he opened his mouth and let it run down his throat to clear away the blocked up feeling inside.

It wasn't until he was out of the shower and was almost dry that he realised the water that had been running down his face since he stepped into the shower was still there and that it wasn't, in fact, shower water, but tears.


	12. Chapter 12

Hey guys. I am so so sorry that this update as been so long in coming. I've had some stuff going on, so writing kind of took a back seat. And then I had a heap of school work to catch up on, so this had to be put off again. All your amazing reviews really made me want to get on andwrite more, though, so thank you.

The formatting seems to have gone a little bit mental, messed up all my punctuation, so please excuse any strange apostrophes and the like. I think I put it all back to normal, but I might have missed some.

xxx

* * *

Kate paced up and down the living room, arms folded, scowling. The clock on the wall ticked, the minute hand moving over to the number ten. Everything in the room was so neat. Normally, Kate liked neatness. She liked order and she liked structure and tidiness. She couldn't concentrate in chaos, nor would she want to. Tony thrived on mayhem. Kate couldn't stand it. This morning, however, was different. The apartment, that was still clean and tidy despite being home to Tony and his habits for a fortnight, seemed wrong. It seemed huge and sprawling, too big for only her and Tony, yet still stifling and constricting. There was hardly any noise – just the ticking of the clock, the hum of the appliances and the sound of Tony's shower running in the bathroom. The quietness seemed to make what little noise there was echo, somehow, and ring in Kate's ears. 

She wasn't upset anymore. She could point out the exact moment when she had stopped feeling sad about the baby and started feeling pissed off. It was that morning, when she had been woken from a fitful sleep by Tony staring at her. Their conversation had turned to the previous day's events, and Tony had said that it would have been nice if she really was pregnant. No, Kate had suddenly felt like saying, even as she agreed with Tony. It wouldn't be nice. It would be anything _but_ nice. For all her tears the day before, she didn't want a baby. She especially didn't want a baby ten days into a relationship that hadn't yet faced the real world and may well simply be the result of two people being trapped in a highly stressful situation together. A baby would mess everything up. It would mess up the case, it would mess up their jobs, and it would mess up whatever twisted relationship she and Tony ended up in when they got home. And, while Kate would be the first to admit that she wanted nothing more than to one day sit in a hospital bed, sweaty and exhausted, with a baby in her arms and her husband by her side, she didn't necessarily want that right now. Nor did she have any romantic ideas about pregnancy. Yes, it was a beautiful thing and yes, she fully intended to go through it one day. But after watching her sister and her brother's wives have numerous children, she was under no illusions. She would get fat, she would get sick, she would get tired, she would get moody, and she had no intentions of putting herself – or anyone else – through that unless it was something they both really wanted. 

Kate had been relieved when she realised she was angry instead of miserable, because it was easier to deal with that emotion. She could take it out on Tony, or anyone else she felt like, and she could justify the feeling. She was annoyed, she could say, and if anyone asked 'why' she would be able to tell them. Because the pregnancy test people had boasted of ninety-nine percent accuracy, but hadn't warned her that she was going to be in theone percentthat got it wrong, nor how emotionally draining the whole thing would be. Because she and Tony had told Gibbs, and they would have to deal with the repercussions of him finding out about their relationship, when he needn't have found out in the first place. Because all her common sense had gone out the window, and she had put herself in a position where she could even think she might be pregnant. She had a whole list of justifiable reasons why she was angry, and nobody could blame her for any of them. It was perfectly understandable.

It would be a whole lot harder to explain that she was sad because she wasn't pregnant, when she never had been and didn't want to be in the first place. Being angry was.. easier. 

With a sigh, Kate glanced around the room and picked a book up off the coffee table then flopped down on to the sofa. The table, scattered with Tony's magazines, was just about the only part of the room that didn't look like it had come straight out of Perfect Homes magazine. Kate flipped the book open, gazing at the page. She fiddled with the top corner, folding it unconsciously until it was battered and dog eared, but when she reached the bottom of the page she realised that although she had read the words, she hadn't taken any of it in. Returning her gaze to the top of the page, she read it again. After four attempts, when Kate finally decided that her mind was so preoccupied that even reading two pages of a novel was too much for it to handle, she scowled and hurled the book at the wall. It hit with a thud, the pages splaying out, and fell down to the floor.

"Are you alright?" Tony asked, appearing in the doorway of the bathroom with a towel round his waist and the dampness that remained from his shower dripping over his chest. Behind him, the steam from the hot water drifted across the floor.

"Yeah," Kate sighed, tilting her head back to look at Tony. "I think I just need a break."

"Why were you throwing things?"

"I don't know," Kate snapped. "I just felt like it."

"Oh."

Kate sighed again, giving Tony's damp torso a cursory once-over before looking away again and fiddling with a hangnail on her right index finger. Usually the sight of a damp, half-naked DiNozzo was enough to draw Kate's attention and keep it for a good few minutes, but today she didn't feel the slight flutter in her stomach, nor the involuntary smile that she so often tried to hold back, lest Tony's ego grew any more inflated than it already was. Tony stayed in the doorway for a couple of seconds before returning to the bathroom and closing the door, and before long Kate heard the sounds of the water running. He was obviously finishing his shower – he must have heard the crash when she threw the book and interrupted his wash to rush to her rescue. Which was nice, in a way – most of her boyfriends tended to assume that, being a Federal Agent and all, she was more than capable of looking after herself. Which, of course, she absolutely was. It didn't mean she didn't appreciate the break from having to. Most of the time, anyway. Kate knew she was just being awkward, but even though she did like Tony fussing over her, it was starting to get on her nerves. It wasn't really fair on Tony, she knew that – if he acted like his normal, sexist self, she'd be all over him for not taking their relationship seriously enough, and as it was, she was getting irritated with him for being so.. boyfriend-y. The poor guy couldn't win. But still, Kate thought, it would be nice if he could manage to find some kind of a happy median. 

Kate tugged her hangnail a little too hard and winced as a red spot of blood welled up. She sucked her finger to stop the bleeding and abate the sting, and kicked her foot angrily at a pillow at the other end of the sofa. It wasn't Tony's fault, she knew that. None of it was his fault. It wasn't his fault that she was stuck in Europe, in a ridiculously huge apartment, with only him for company. Nor was it his fault that most of their time was spent doing not-very-much in terms of work, because infiltrating a terrorist ring took time and patience and couldn't be done in the first fortnight. It wasn't even his fault that she was annoyed with him, because he hadn't done anything wrong. Nothing that was making Kate feel bad was anything to do with Tony, not really, but he was the only person around that she could vent at. He was the only person around, full stop. His very presence was stifling, and she needed a break from him. 

Climbing to her feet and stretching, Kate fetched her coat and keys and left the apartment. 

The fresh air felt good. Having hardly left the building in the last couple of days, being outside in the open air was refreshing and uplifting. The sky was dark, almost like night-time, although it was barely nine in the morning, and Kate considered going back to the apartment and fetching her umbrella. She decided against it – how much harm could a little bit of rain do, anyway? – and wandered aimlessly down the street. She knew vaguely where she was going, but she wasn't paying any attention to her route and she wasn't going anywhere in particular, and she soon found herself walking down a street she was sure she'd walked down several times already. The clouds that had been hanging in the air had finally burst, and thick, wet droplets of rain were spattering the pavement and Kate's face. As Kate headed further away from the apartment and into the centre of Paris, more people milled around and, if Kate didn't listen to the accents surrounding her and the unfamiliar language, she could almost pretend she was in DC. She wasn't in Paris, alone with Tony and trying to lie and sneak her way into a terrorist cell. She was a stone's throw away from the Smithsonian, not the Louvre, and if she turned around and went home she'd find herself in her own apartment, warm and cosy, not like the cold, stylish but unwelcoming apartment she and Tony shared now. Toni would be on her bed, with fur and drops of dog spit all over the place, and her walls and bookshelves would be filled with pictures of familiar faces. And, if she looked up right about now, she would see.. the Eiffel Tower. Ah. 

When Kate had been a little girl, and her dad told her about what a wonderful place the world was and how much there was to see, she would close her eyes and count to ten, and imagine she was in all those places. _"Can you see?" _her father would ask her, sitting on the end of her bed and somehow managing to fit all the sights and smells and sounds of the world into his voice. _"There's the Great Pyramid. There's Big Ben. There's Sydney Opera House."_ Maybe she was losing her imagination, or maybe it just wasn't magic when you were in your thirties, walking down a street in the rain, and your father was three years buried in Indiana, but closing her eyes and pretending only served to make Kate more aware of the fact that, despite her excitement at going on an assignment to Europe and her wonder at seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time, and even the fact that Paris had been one of the places her dad had told her about when she was tucked up in bed, the place she wanted to be, more than anywhere else, was home. 

As Kate wandered down the street, the rain started to come down harder, and she started to get cold. Ducking into a small coffee-shop on her right, Kate pushed her wet hair out of her face and glanced around. It was a nice place – small, and cosy, though a little too touristy for Kate's liking. Still. It was warm and dry, and though the air was filled with the steady murmur of people chatting to one another over their impromptu let's-get-in-here-quick-and-shelter-from-the-rain coffees and the faint sound of piped music coming from the speakers in the corner, it was much quieter than it was outside. More peaceful, too. And, while outdoors was grey and wet and dull, the walls in this place were painted red and the people were smiling. It was much, much better than being in the street. Squeezing her way past an umbrella stand and a folded up pram, Kate approached the small queue at the counter. 

She was so busy staring into space, lost in the warmth that was spreading to her icy fingertips and the tantalising scent of strong coffee that was filtering into her nose, that she didn't notice when she reached the front of the queue. 

"Madame?" the attractive young man behind the counter prompted, waiting for her to come to her senses.

"Oh!" Kate jumped, jolted out of her reverie. "Uh, sorry, erm..

The young man smiled, and Kate caught herself lowering her eyes coyly. 

"American?" he asked, and Kate nodded. He grinned, a cheeky, sparkling grin that would rival Tony's in the sexiness stakes, and Kate blinked several times in an effort to stop herself staring. "What would you like to drink?"

Kate smiled, glad that he spoke English. She was sure she could manage to order a coffee in French – she wasn't _stupid_ – but she seemed to have gone all tongue-tied. 

"I, uh, erm, coffee, please," she mumbled. It wasn't her fault – he really was very attractive. Young – too young. And, of course, there was the case. And Tony. But still – she was allowed to _look_. She could appreciate beauty when it was shoved in her face like that. Tony did, she was sure. She wasn't about to kidnap the poor boy and force him to live his life as her secret toy boy or anything like that. She was only looking. Kate knew that there was no harm in looking. Admiring. There was absolutely nothing wrong with simply appreciating the fact that here was a very handsome young man making her coffee. Nothing wrong with finding him hot. Nothing wrong with that at all.

Of course, she also knew that when you have to tell yourself something that many times, it's because you know it isn't true. But she managed to push that uncomfortable thought to the back of her mind and enjoy the view. It really was a very pleasing view. Especially when he turned around and leant over to reach a mug from the back of the shelf. 

He passed the mug of steaming coffee over the counter and Kate took it gratefully, handing over some change and trying not to grin like a smitten thirteen-year-old when their fingers collided. Accepting her change and turning to find a table, the man – the boy, really, Kate thought, somewhat wistfully – called out to her.

"Madame?"

Kate turned, and the.. young man.. flashed her that wonky grin again.

"Have a nice day," he joked, winking at her, and Kate laughed. Maybe Paris wasn't so bad after all. 

Taking her seat, Kate sipped her coffee and smiled to herself. It was strange how one teasing joke from a – oh-so-gorgeous – stranger, instead of making her more homesick for the cheerful trills of 'sure', 'you're welcome' and 'have a nice day' that greeted every please, thank you and goodbye that passed her lips at home, instead made her feel more content where she was. Kate drank her coffee slowly, savouring it, putting off the prospect of leaving. She couldn't tell whether she didn't want to leave because it was still cold and wet and sitting in the warm coffee-shop and checking out the serving staff was far more enjoyable than trudging through the rain, or if she didn't want to leave because she just didn't want to go back to the apartment. And Tony. Actually, if she was entirely honest, she knew exactly why she didn't want to leave, but if she didn't think about it too hard she could kid herself. 

Five cups of coffee later – all brought to her by the charming French boy, whose name, Kate had learnt, was Jean – Kate put her empty cup down and sighed. If she had once more cup of coffee, if she drunk it as slowly as she possibly could, she could claim it was time for an early lunch and drag her stay out for an hour longer. But she knew she ought to go back to the apartment, and, although each coffee had been more delicious than the last, if she so much as sipped another mouthful of the stuff she was pretty sure she'd throw up. Not to mention the fact that she had consumed enough caffeine to keep even Gibbs going for an hour or so. Somewhat reluctantly, Kate put her coat on and picked up her bag. She left a handful of euros on the table to pay the bill for the extra coffees, and a generous tip for Jean for having such a nice little ass, and headed for the door.

"Goodbye," Jean smiled as she passed him on her way to the exit. "I hope you enjoyed your coffee."

"It was lovely," Kate replied. "Thank you."

"Maybe you will come back again?"

Kate grinned. "Maybe," she nodded, stepping outside. 

The bad weather hadn't let up at all since Kate had gone into the coffee-shop. If anything, it had gotten worse. The rain had slowed down into the occasional wet splash, but there was lightening flashing overhead and storm clouds rolling in like vast black tufts of cotton wool. Although Kate wasn't a great fan of intense heat, and had found the sticky humidity and searing sunshine when she and Tony had first arrived in Paris almost unbearable, a little sun to break up the storm clouds would be nice. Why did everything have to be so intense? Why wasn't there any sort of best-of-both-worlds system where things didn't have to be at an extreme, one way or the other? 

Thunder rolled in the sky, sounding like the rumbling of a train overhead, and the swarms of people – the weather hadn't stopped the crowds, Kate noticed – hurried more, pushing and jostling to get out of the storm. Kate, in no hurry to get back and fully aware that she was going to be drenched anyway, didn't rush. As she ambled her way down the street, occasionally glaring at someone who pushed her a bit too roughly or side-stepping to avoid puddles, she became aware of someone behind her; someone who wasn't pushing to get into some shelter before the heaven's opened and they were truly soaked. Ignoring it – Paris was packed, after all, and of course someone was behind her – she rubbed her hands together and pushed them into her pockets to try and warm them up, passing the feeling off as too much caffeine. Her nerves had been set on edge, however, and years of honing her instincts in the Secret Service – when her astuteness had been all there was to rely on to ensure the President made it to his car in one piece – had taught her how to tell when she was being tailed. She turned, but there was no escaping the fact that Paris was a city – a popular city – and she couldn't see through the throngs of people. Kate carried on, hurrying slightly now to go along with the crowd and avoid being bruised by some tourist's sharp elbow. 

There was a loud growl of thunder, and the rain suddenly got heavier. Kate was sick of the storm, now, and wanted to go home, but she was smart enough to know that if she was being followed, taking empty back-streets wasn't the best thing to do. She weighed up the options. As a small child in red boots jumped into a puddle beside her, sending muddy water splashing up under the hem of her coat and soaking what seemed like the only part of her body that wasn't already wet with icy water, Kate made her decision and ducked into a side street. The strange sense of being followed wouldn't leave her, so she quickened her pace. As Kate got away from the main streets and the noise of the crowds and traffic, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned. Down the street, heading towards her, was a man. Dressed in dark clothes and a hooded sweater, the hood shielding his features; he was too small to be Stefan and not thin enough to be Gerard. Kate consoled herself briefly with the fact that, whoever it was, it at least wasn't a terrorist. Not one she had met, anyway. Kate turned back down the street and walked quickly away from the man. She could run fast, but he could probably run faster, and she didn't want to take that chance until she was in a more busy area and someone would be there to notice a man chasing a woman down the road. Mentally cursing herself for taking the back roads, Kate glanced over her shoulder. The man was getting closer. Giving up on her 'not running until there's people around' plan, Kate took a deep breath and ran. She had been right – he could run faster. Within ten seconds, she felt his hand on her shoulder. 

Thrusting her elbow back as hard as she could, she heard a muffled 'oomph' as she spun round and brought her knee up sharply between the legs of her attacker and swung her fist up into his jaw. Doubled up, he gave a pained whimper, and dropped onto the floor on his knees.

"Hell, Kate," he groaned. "What did you do that for?"

"DiNozzo?" Kate pushed the hood away from his face and glared at Tony. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to catch you!" Tony panted, his face screwed up in pain. "Why did you do that?"

"I thought you were following me," Kate snapped. "You should have shouted."

"You weren't listening!" Tony protested. "I called you five times!"

Kate scowled. "I didn't hear," she muttered. "Why are you chasing me anyway?"

"I wasn't _chasing_," Tony protested. "I was _looking_. You just took off! I came out of the bathroom and you'd gone. I've been all over the place trying to find you. And then you attacked me!"

Kate looked down at Tony, kneeling on the wet concrete, and sighed. "I'm sorry I hurt you," she conceded, helping him to his feet.

They made their way back to the apartment, dripping wet and shivering, but all in one piece. They earned themselves some disapproving looks in the elevator when Tony shook his head like a dog in attempt to get rid of some of the excess water and Kate struggled to keep a straight face as a very stern-looking, elderly gentleman glowered at him, but they made it back to their apartment without being kicked out of the building. 

As they stripped off their sodden coats and shoes, dripping rainwater all over the luxurious floorboards and shivering, Kate looked at Tony. She was in the process of gauging whether 'ordering' or 'wheedling' would be the best way to get first dibs on the bathroom, but Tony looked so cold and bedraggled that she changed her mind.

"You can have the shower first," she offered, standing up on tiptoes and giving Tony a quick peck on the lips. "I'll make some coffee."

--

Thirty minutes later – which, Tony thought, was probably some kind of a record, but he didn't want to risk saying that – Kate emerged from the bathroom. Clambering over Tony's sprawled-out limbs, she snuggled down beside him and buried her face in his shoulder (where, Kate thought, he would soon have a face-shaped hollow). 

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, closing her eyes and relaxing as Tony lazily lifted an arm from the sofa and tucked it over Kate, stroking her back softly.

"What for?" Tony asked, taken aback, as he tried to turn his head and look at Kate without twisting his body and dislodging her.

Kate yawned, her mouth opening so wide that Tony was sure he could fit his head in her mouth. "Taking off like that," she said. "Earlier on." 

"Just don't do it again, okay?" Tony scolded gently, squeezing Kate's shoulder in a light reprimand. "I was worried about you."

"Promise," Kate nodded, yawning again. 

She was tired. It was only lunchtime, but she hadn't slept well the night before. She'd tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of sleep, and hadn't managed to stay asleep for more than an hour and a half. When she had slept, it had been light and fitful, disturbed by the slightest noise or movement. Or else it had been plagued by nightmares that she couldn't remember when she woke up but had left her trembling and sweaty. Tony hadn't been much help, either. She thought he was probably awake most of the night too, judging from the battles he seemed to be having with the covers. Despite what Kate would have expected, Tony was the one who woke up in the mornings almost exactly where he fell asleep. He could be dead, for all the movement he made during the night. At a push, he might wake up facing the other way, or rolled slightly further across the bed. He rarely kicked covers around. Kate, on the other hand, could wake up spread-eagled across a King Sized bed and still throw angry, unconscious swats at any pillow, duvet or person that dared encroach on her sleeping space. 

The laptop beeped, jerking Kate out of her half-conscious state of almost-asleep. She moaned slightly as Tony shifted underneath her, reaching for the laptop, and glared half-heartedly at him when he wriggled into a sitting position.

"Well," Kate heard from the laptop, in Gibbs' unmistakeable – and disapproving – tones. "Aren't we getting cosy?"

Kate cringed. Gibbs was, quite clearly, pissed off about what he was seeing. Which was understandable, Kate supposed, when you considered that what he was seeing was two of his agents snuggled up on a sofa together, one if not both of them almost asleep, in the middle of the day.

"Up, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled.

"But Boss, I'm tired," Tony moaned. "And there's no work to be done."

Gibbs glared. "Are you or are you not having dinner with a pack of terrorists tonight?"

"Yes, but -"

"Then don't tell me there's no work to be done!" Gibbs barked. "There's always work to be done. If you want to get back here in one piece, both of you, you'll spend more time reading files and doing checks than you will playing house. That's what the damn computer's for – it doesn't just exist to look at porn and play games!"

Tony sighed. "Okay, Gibbs," he groaned. "I'll just slave away at the computer for hours.. and hours and hours and hours.. you're aware, right, there's some kind of time warp between on-line time and real time? You can be an hour on the internet and only think you've taken five minutes."

"Your point, DiNozzo?"

"Well, if we work all day, we might not notice the time and miss dinner. And Stefan might come over to see us, break into the apartment, and find us researching him. Then he'll kill us both, and come after you, and hack into the NCIS databases. He might go on a mad killing spree. Your last thought will be that if you had only listened to me then -"

"DiNozzo, if you do not shut up right now.. Gibbs warned. 

Tony sighed. "Alright," he said. "If that's what you want. Remember this, though, when Stefan comes for you and it's too late and -"

"Tony, will you just shut up for five seconds?" Kate interrupted.

Tony counted to five in his head while Kate opened her mouth to say something to Gibbs.

"It's been five seconds," he grinned, flicking her lightly on the arm. "I don't have to be quiet anymore. Does anyone feel like a sing song?" This time, even Gibbs' glare paled in comparison to Kate's. "Just me, then," Tony shrugged. "I guess not..

"The director," Gibbs said pointedly, glaring at Tony as he got the conversation back on track, "is concerned that an illegitimate child might not go down well with Stefan. He doesn't want you to say anything about the baby tonight. The director's working on a cover –"

"Erm, Gibbs?" Kate broke into his flow of speech, nibbling her lip and reaching for Tony's hand. Even Tony had turned serious at this turn in the conversation. "You might want to hold off on that cover." Gibbs stared at her, clearly expecting an explanation. "I'm not pregnant, Gibbs," she sighed. "It was a mistake."

"A mistake?" 

Kate nodded. Gibbs took a deep breath, and Kate mentally braced herself. There was a long, long pause while Gibbs stared at her, before he finally spoke. 

"And how," he growled, "did you make that _mistake_, Agent Todd?"

Kate swallowed. "Erm.. she began. "The, uh, pregnancy test wasn't accurate, I guess, and..

"You _guess_?" Gibbs was shouting now, changing colour slightly, and even the techies that manned MTAC and had seen Gibbs lose it with hundreds of people were looking a little wary. "Are you telling me, Agent Todd, that the Director, myself, and dozens of the most powerful people in the agency have spent hours to find a solution for a problem that doesn't even exist, because you couldn't take a pregnancy test properly?"

"Are you alright?" Tony whispered in Kate's ear, as Gibbs yelled. She nodded, smiling weakly. "Really? I'll tell him to lay off, if you want, this is the last thing you need right now, and -"

"I'm fine. Just let him get it out of his system, okay?" Kate promised in a hushed voice.

"But you're upset and -"

"I don't want a baby, Tony," Kate murmured. "I'm not upset."

Tony blinked, forgetting that Gibbs was mid-rant. "You don't?" he asked, dropping his secretive whisper and returning to his normal voice. "Why?" Confusion laced Tony's tone. Kate could almost hear his brain shifting into gear, trying to recall any part of the previous night that might have suggested Kate was anything other than distraught about the fact that she wasn't pregnant. People who didn't want a baby – as far as Tony was concerned, anyway – did not react the way Kate did upon finding they were not, in fact, going to have one.

"No," Kate said. "I thought I did. I mean, I didn't, but then when I thought I was pregnant, I really did -"

"Are you two listening to me?" Gibbs barked. 

"Yes, Gibbs," Kate sighed, turning her attention back to Gibbs. 

By the time Gibbs had stopped shouting and lecturing and finally let them go, albeit with threats of personally turning up on their doorstep to kill them both, both Kate and Tony were desperate to get away. It was with huge relief that Tony closed the lid of the laptop and pushed it away, before flopping back onto the sofa and sighing. 

"He took that well," Tony observed lightly, and Kate playfully slapped him on the arm. "Kate, are you really glad that you aren't pregnant?"

"I'm not ready to have a child, Tony," Kate sighed. "My sister.. she's ready. She's a great mom. I couldn't do that."

"You'll be a great mom, too," Tony said.

"One day. Not now."

Tony nodded, smoothing Kate's hair. "One day.. with me?" he asked. He gazed hopefully at Kate for a couple of seconds, waiting for her reply.

"I couldn't think of anyone better," Kate smiled finally, and Tony grinned. 

Tony leant forwards, squeezing Kate's hand, and kissed her gently. Pulling back, she gazed into his eyes and smiled. Over the past couple of days, all the physical contact between them had been hesitant, tentative, as though they were painfully aware that it was touching that had gotten them into this mess. They'd been just as touchy-feely as they'd been for the past ten days or so, it had been just as frequent and just as natural. It had, however, been somewhat cautious. That kiss had been the first glimmer of (relative) normality between the two of them since Kate had told Tony she might be pregnant. It felt good. Leaning forward for another, deeper kiss, Kate grinned against Tony's mouth as their noses squashed. Fumbling like that, with scraping teeth and clumsy hands and a vague (though persistent) feeling that they shouldn't be doing this, Kate felt all of sixteen years old. 

"Are you really alright?" Tony asked, as they pulled away for air.

"I promise," Kate nodded, climbing to her feet and tugging Tony by the hand into the kitchen. "What's for lunch?"

"Pizza?" Tony suggested hopefully, brightening up at the prospect of food. 

Kate wrinkled her nose at him, and rummaged through the cupboards to find something to eat. Taking a foil-covered tub of sauce from the fridge, she peeled back the mock-lid and sniffed it. 

"That's good," she said. "Warm it up." She held it out to Tony, who took it from her and put it in the microwave. Twisting the dial until 5:00 appeared on the little screen, he hit the Go button and hopped onto the counter. Kate closed the fridge door, bottle of orange juice in hand, and turned around.

"DiNozzo!" she shouted. "The microwave!"

Tony blinked, and turned to the microwave a little way to his left. The count-down timer was ticking along, but the clear window was filled with dark smoke, and there was a bright orange flame visible through the smouldering blackness. With a shriek, Tony leapt off the counter. Horrified, Kate switched off the microwave where it was plugged into the wall and pulled the door open. The flames died down immediately, and, shoving her hands inside some oven gloves, Kate lifted the tray out of the microwave. On top sat the remains of the plastic box, warped out of shape and melted over the tray. The foil had curled away into nothing but a few blackened remains and some ash, and what had once been edible pasta sauce was congealed into a sticky, burnt, bubbling mess in the middle of the wreckage.

"What happened?" Tony asked, toeing the ground and hoping that Kate hadn't noticed his girly squeals of fright while she'd been fixing the situation.

Kate stared at him. "Are you kidding?" she asked. Tony shrugged bashfully, staring at the floor like a naughty little boy. "DiNozzo.. Kate groaned, pushing her hair out of her eyes and taking a deep breath. "Look," she said, trying to be patient. "Metal can't go in the microwave, okay? And neither can plastic. Metal catches fire. Plastic melts."

"But -"

"Aluminium foil counts as metal," Kate interrupted, anticipating Tony's protest.

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's alright," Kate said, scraping the remains into the sink and running cold water over them. "Just leave them there to cool."

Tony nodded, and fetched some bread from the cupboard to make sandwiches. 

"I'm sorry," he said, as he sat at the table with Kate and they tucked into their lunch. "I didn't mean to set the microwave on fire."

"I know," Kate said. "It's alright." Tony nodded, sighing heavily, and Kate peered at him. "What's up?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Tony..

"Nothing."

"Come on, Tony, tell me."

"It's just that..quot; Tony trailed off. "Don't worry, it's dumb."

"Please?"

"You're just so.. capable," Tony muttered. "You can _do_ everything. I date bimbos. Anything I do, they think it's great. You don't need me to save you from spiders or beetles. And I can't do anything else. I can't go shopping properly – I can't even buy a pregnancy test, for God's sake! – and now I've almost burnt the house down. I'm incompetent. It's the guy's job to be all big and tough and swoop in and save the day, and here's me melting tubs and blowing things up and -"

"Tony," Kate interrupted. "I think you're missing the point." Tony sighed. "It's not the guy's job to save the day at all. It's the guy's job to make the girl feel safe and secure and happy."

"So?"

"So, thatmakes you the most competent person alive, Tony."

Tony blinked. "Really?" he asked.

"Really," Kate nodded. "And besides, you're saving the world. Risking your life for the American people. That beats the hell out of spiders and beetles, don't you think?"

Tony grinned. Kate did have a point.

"Thank you," he whispered, clasping Kate's hand across the table and stroking it gently with his thumb. "And just so you know.. if you ever _do_ want rescuing from a spider – I would be honoured."

Kate laughed. "You'll be the first one I ask," she promised, leaning forwards for a kiss. 


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N:_ Hey guys. Well, this fic is finally getting back on track to what I intended it to be before I got slightly carried away... this was meant to happen chapters ago, but better late than never, eh?

Anyway. Read on... But please keep in mind that I've only ever written Tate before, and this chapter is about Jibbs, so it might be a little off. I'm still trying to get used to writing those two characters. Hopefully they'll improve as things go on.

Oh, and cos of some new formatting rule, breaks in the chapters are going to be one straight line from now on, instead of three little dashes. Just so you know.

* * *

Unbelievable.

Un-freaking-believable.

Gibbs slammed the door to the Director's office like a sulky teenager and glared at McGee, who had been waiting anxiously outside. Gibbs had come to terms – almost – with Tony and Kate getting together. He'd expected it since the beginning of this God-forsaken mission, had he not? And to object would be hypocritical. He could accept that, for a while at least, Kate and Tony were going to be getting touchy-feely in Paris. His two protégées were going to be... doing stuff. And when they came back, Kate would trill to Abby about how wonderful Tony was, and Tony would gloat to McGee about how hot Kate was, and then things would fall apart and they'd refuse to speak to one another for weeks. Gibbs had accepted that, and started developing a plan for dealing with it. He hadn't been angry with them, or lost it with them, when he first found out about their relationship. Well. He'd shouted at Kate a little bit, but he'd actually apologised afterwards. Almost. He thought he'd handled the revelation remarkably well, considering Rule Twelve. He'd even been understanding about their damn... foetus. Not because he approved, or could excuse the fact that they'd been so utterly stupid as to allow that to happen, but because at the end of the day, they were his agents. They were the good guys. It was up to him to stick up for them with the director and that was what he was going to do – even if he would like nothing more than to slap them both.

But then, after all the fuss with the director and all the effort he put into convincing the FBI that his agents were mature and capable adults and not over-excited teenagers who couldn't keep their hands to themselves, and that the case could and would still go ahead, it had been – what had Kate said? – 'a mistake'. A _mistake_. He'd even persuaded Fornell to give his personal seal of approval to the abilities of Agents Todd and DiNozzo, albeit through gritted teeth and with a grimace like it physically hurt him to praise them. It had been all Gibbs could do to stop them being dragged home by the scruffs of their necks and kicked out of NCIS.

All for a _mistake_.

And now the Director – who, of all people, should share Gibbs' need to thump something (or someone) – had been perfectly calm about it. He thought it was a _good thing_. It was, obviously, good that Kate wasn't pregnant. Maternity leave would probably kill her, and Gibbs wasn't about to start running a day-care out of the bullpen. And laws and regulations aside, he couldn't in good conscience send a pregnant woman into the field with a family of terrorists. He had morals. But... there was no yelling. Not from Morrow, at any rate. Or throwing of things. Just a calm and collected 'well, that's a relief' and a smile. Did he not understand that Gibbs was dealing with a mutiny? That his agents had a total disregard for rules and authority? Did he not think that now there was no baby, getting another video conference to Paris and screaming at them for a while was a perfectly reasonable idea?

Apparently not.

"_I'm sure you've handled that,"_ Morrow had chuckled. _"I'll discuss it with them when they get back."_

_Un_believable. This was not what he needed, first thing in the morning.

"McGee!" Gibbs barked, storming through the waiting area and into the hall. "Don't just stand there!"

Startled, McGee jumped and scurried after Gibbs, running straight into another agent in the process of trying to stay close enough to Gibbs and yet still keep a safe distance.

"S-sorry, Ma'am," McGee stuttered, turning red as he realised he'd spilt coffee down her white shirt. He glanced at Gibbs' retreating back, and sighed. Oh well. "Um, here," he offered, digging a tissue out of his pocket and trying to dab at the brown stain on the front of her clothing. "Sorry... I, um, I was just... I'm very sorry..."

The woman smiled, taking the tissue and holding it against the stain. She was pretty, McGee thought to himself. "Don't worry," she said, shaking her head. "Do you work with Agent Gibbs?" McGee nodded. "Well," she said with a whisper and a cheeky smile, "his coffee may be sacrosanct, but mine isn't."

"But... your shirt, Ma'am, it's..."

"Jenny," she interrupted. "Not Ma'am. And I don't like this shirt anyway. Where's Jethro rushing off to?"

McGee frowned. Jethro? Oh, right. Gibbs. Of course. Either this woman didn't know his boss at all, or she knew him very well indeed. Or maybe she just had a death wish.

"I don't know, he, uh... two of our team-members are working in Paris, I don't really... he went to MTAC and then went to shout at... um, the Director... he just stormed off..."

Gibbs re-appeared behind Jenny, scowling. "McGee!" he shouted. "Do I need to put you on a leash?"

Jenny turned, unfazed by all the yelling. She seemed to find it amusing, actually, McGee thought, and wondered if there was something wrong with her. She called Gibbs 'Jethro', after all, and didn't seem to mind that she had coffee spilt all over her... McGee always thought (privately, of course) that Gibbs over-reacted slightly to spilt coffee, but most people would be pretty annoyed if a bumbling stranger walked into them and ruined their blouse.

"Having another tantrum, Jethro?" Jenny asked, and McGee's jaw dropped. Then it closed and dropped again, as Gibbs stared at this red-headed woman in front of him and, instead of lopping her head off and swallowing it whole, he smiled.

_Smiled_.

McGee blinked, shaking his head slightly as if to straighten out the world he was seeing. He squinted at Gibbs, tilting his head like a confused puppy, and frowned.

Gibbs was still smiling.

"Jen," he said, his features soft and his blue eyes sparkling in a way that made him look happier and more human than McGee had ever seen him before. "It's good to see you."

* * *

McGee sat at his desk, watching the bullpen. Gibbs was with Fornell. McGee hadn't seen him arrive, but he knew he must be there because he'd been coming and going since Kate and Tony went to France and now the elevator was mysteriously out of order. Again. The bullpen was quiet today – most of the teams were out on cases. McGee supposed that, without Gibbs working any crime scenes, everyone else had to work twice as hard. Gibbs' impatience and legendary skill combined with Tony's logic and competitiveness and Kate's burning desire to prove herself, not to mention her quick mind, plus McGee's own computer skills and alliance with Abby, made their team one of the best. _The_ best, McGee supposed, though modesty stopped him including himself in that description.

He was bored. Although technically he was working the Paris case, he didn't have a lot to do now Kate and Tony had gone. Hacking databases and systems with Abby had been great fun, until they remembered that Kate and Tony were going away. Then it had become more morbid and, somehow, urgent. Anything they could find, any little scrap of information that might help while Kate and Tony were in Europe, became more important than eating or sleeping until Kate persuaded them they were no good existing on nothing but caffeine.

McGee smiled to himself. He missed Kate. He missed how she laughed when Tony teased him, and how he would be able to _feel_ her glaring across the office at Tony in a way that had McGee trembling behind his computer while Tony just grinned and threw sexual innuendoes at her to wind her up. He missed Tony, too, surprisingly. He liked Tony, and Abby told him that deep down, Tony liked him too, but McGee had expected to enjoy the break from being constantly picked on. But being in the office with only Gibbs for such a long time was strange. Of course, there had been times when Kate and Tony had been off doing something else and he had been in the office with Gibbs, but that rarely lasted more than an afternoon. The bullpen felt empty and quiet without their squabbling and teasing, and he was painfully aware of their deserted desks sitting opposite one another. He worried, sometimes, about how they were doing. When Gibbs would get a message and rush off to MTAC without a word of explanation, dropping everything to go and talk to them. He'd done that a couple of times, and every time it sent shivers down McGee's spine. What was happening, all that way away, that was so important? He always found himself thinking the worst. A gunfight? A bomb? Kate and Tony MIA? McGee knew Abby worried. Abby worried a lot. She kept coming up to the bullpen and trying to get information out of Gibbs, and sometimes she cried. Not at work – she was too proud for that – but at home, in the safety of her coffin, with McGee's arm over her shoulders... she didn't lay there and weep, nothing like that, just sometimes, halfway through a movie or a game show, McGee would notice her sniffling slightly and wiping her eyes.

"_What's wrong?" _he'd ask, and the answer would always be the same.

"_I'm just thinking about Tony and Kate,"_ she'd say, trying to shrug it off and pretend she was okay.

McGee wished Gibbs would tell him more about what was happening. There was obviously something – every time he asked, or Gibbs put his glasses on and squinted at the file, he got this look on his face and sighed – but he didn't know what. Gibbs would only tell him what Kate and Tony were supposed to be doing and when. Tonight, for example (or this afternoon, it depended how you looked at the time difference) McGee knew that they were going to have dinner with the terrorists. They were meeting at eight o' clock, Paris time, at Stefan's favourite restaurant – a place called the Fleur De Lis, that was so expensive that a meal there cost more than McGee's favourite suit. It was ironic, he thought. This morning, partly because he was bored and partly because he was worried about what was going down thousands of miles away, McGee had typed the name of the restaurant into NCIS' extensive databases and looked it up. 'Flower of the lily', it meant. Supposed to represent French royalty, and show perfection, light and life. A few words to Ducky had educated McGee extensively on the subject.

According to legend, Ducky said, an angel presented a golden lily (the Fleur de Lis) to Clovis, King of the French, as a symbol of his purity. When Joan of Arc led the French troops to victory, she carried a flag showing God blessing the Fleur de Lis. Roman Catholics used it, as a sign of the Holy Trinity. It was, no matter what point of view you looked at it from, an honourable symbol of all that was good and noble. He hoped that was a good omen.

With a heavy sigh, McGee checked his watch. Gibbs had been in the elevator with Fornell for ten minutes. That was a long time, even by his standards. It wouldn't be about Tony and Kate, McGee told himself. Gibbs wouldn't tell Fornell anything before he told McGee, surely? Not anything bad, anyway. Maybe it was about that redhead? She worked here, McGee was fairly sure from the way she seemed so at ease in the building, but he hadn't seen her around before. Maybe she was FBI? One of Fornell's agents or something? That could explain why Gibbs was talking to Fornell for so long... Then again, Gibbs had seemed genuinely happy to see her.

That was strange in itself, McGee thought, loosening his tie and sitting back in his chair to think. Gibbs was never _happy_ to see anybody. Well, that wasn't strictly true. That time Ari kidnapped Kate and held her hostage and she came back with a split lip, he had been happy then. He'd hugged her. Well, not 'hugged' so much... more like he grabbed her by the shoulders and peered into her face, inspecting her lip, then hauled her over to an ambulance with his arm around her shoulders before he charged off to see if it was too late to shoot Ari. Still. He'd been glad she was alright. And, when Tony had gotten kidnapped and held underground, Gibbs had been happy to get him back.

Why did it always seem to take a kidnapping or a hostage situation to get Gibbs to be pleased to see someone?

But that redhead, Jenny, hadn't been held hostage. Or kidnapped. And Gibbs was pleased to see her in a different way. Not like a father whose kid had gotten themselves lost in the mall, which was how he welcomed back Kate and Tony – like he wanted to hug them and shake them in equal amounts, and scold them for making him worry even while he patched them up and stood guard. When he had seen Jenny – 'Jen', he'd called her – it had been... it had just been different.

* * *

Gibbs sighed. It was dark in the bullpen now, the lights almost all out. Nobody else was around, but Gibbs was waiting for a call. Tony and Kate should have left the restaurant ages ago, should have rung up to confirm they'd got back in one piece. But they hadn't.

Of course, it was entirely likely that they'd gotten home, had a glass of wine, gotten drunk, and were conked out in each others arms by now.

It was even possible that they hadn't left at all, and were still at the restaurant – it was, after all, only five hours since they were supposed to meet Stefan. Five hours was not that long. Gibbs had lost count of the times he'd gone to dinner with friends at eight and not got home until the early hours of the morning. It happened. Never, though, when he was working a case. And the friends had never been psychotic.

McGee had twitched at every ring of a telephone, waiting for news, while Abby sat at Tony's desk and stared at Gibbs like he could do something about it. She was waiting for McGee, Gibbs had realised, an hour or so after everyone else had deserted the bullpen and gone home to their families or their lovers or their empty apartments.

"_Take her home_," he'd told McGee, eventually. _"There's no point in three people sitting here."_

He understood their protests, their need to be in contact – it was the same need that kept him sitting at his desk even now, even though he knew the call would go to his cell and not his desk anyway – but it wasn't doing any good. Abby was falling asleep at DiNozzo's desk, and McGee was on the verge of breakdown. He'd told them he'd call, if Kate and Tony rung him. After, of course, he'd lectured them for a while. If they didn't call... well.

He knew he should go home, now. Sitting at his desk was doing nobody any good. If he was going to sit up all night, he might as well do something useful. There were only two more ribs on the boat that needed sanding. Then he could move on to the next task. If he went home now and worked all night, he might get them done. Rubbing his eyes, Gibbs switched his light out and sighed. Getting up seemed like so much effort. Maybe he'd stay put all night after all...

A voice interrupted him from his haze. Soft and husky and warm. So familiar, always so comforting... the memory of that voice had kept him from misery on more than one lonely night, when the bed was cold and the bourbon ran low.

"Don't you have a home to go to, Jethro?"

Despite himself, Gibbs smiled. God dammit, that was twice in one day that this woman had done that to him! He'd have to tell her to stop appearing unexpectedly and making him smile.

"Don't you?" he replied, raising his eyebrows in mock outrage as Jenny perched herself on the edge of his desk and smiled at him.

Jenny didn't reply, just watched him. Gibbs watched her in return, taking her in. She looked the same. She smelt the same. Would she feel the same, he wondered?

"I heard you got a promotion in Santa Monica," Gibbs said, instead of voicing the thoughts that were verging towards inappropriate.

"I heard you got married. And divorced. Again."

Gibbs chuckled. "Who told you?" he asked. He'd forgotten that Jen was the only woman who could make him chuckle. Kate couldn't do it – the most she'd ever managed was a wry smile and a roll of the eyes when he thought she wasn't looking. Abby couldn't even do it, when she was at her most adorable. Not like Jen could.

"Ducky. Who told you?" Jen smiled.

"Ducky. He knows you're back then?" Gibbs asked.

"Back? I didn't leave, Jethro."

"Then the Marines could use your expertise, Jen, because I haven't seen you around here."

"I was in Santa Monica, Jethro, I was still with NCIS."

"You could have stayed, you know."

"You could have come with me."

Gibbs didn't reply, just looked up at Jen. She used to sit on his desk like that, back in the day, on the rare occasions they were in DC and on speaking terms. She'd perch her little butt on the edge of his desk, tilting her head to peer at whatever file he was working on and smiling at him. She had bangs, then, that fell in her face and made her wrinkle her nose. It used to annoy him, how she had to stop what she was doing every five seconds to push them out of her eyes.

"_No wonder you can't shoot straight,"_ he'd tease, and she'd reply, _"At least I have an excuse."_

He liked her hair like this. He could see her eyes. Before, when they were in love, he would lie her down and stroke her hair away from her face and stare into her eyes for hours. She'd just lie there, still, and let him. She liked it, she said.

"So," Gibbs said, folding his hands behind his head and looking up at Jen. "Husband run off and left you? Sensible guy."

"Says the man whose entire team have abandoned him and gone to Paris," Jen laughed. "And for your information," she added, leaning on her arm so she was right in front of Gibbs. "I'm not married."

"Shocker," Gibbs muttered. He knew that, from snooping in her file, but it always surprised him when he glanced down at the 'marital status' section and it was still blank. That, interestingly, was the second part of the page he looked at. The first was for any injuries in the line of duty. The second was always, without fail, marital status. He didn't look often, though. He was always afraid of the answer he might find, and he didn't want to think about what that meant, so he didn't.

"I'm not engaged, either," Jen said softly, licking her lips.

God, she was close to him. Gibbs swallowed thickly. She smelt so good. Like baked apples and brown sugar and everything delicious in the world had all been rolled into her skin when she was born. And the way she licked her lips like that... they were so red, and so soft...

"How about a boyfriend?" Gibbs asked, dragging his gaze away from her lips and meeting her eyes.

"Nope."

"Good," Gibbs whispered, tilting his head up and kissing her.

Jen closed her eyes, letting his coarse stubble scrape her chin and his nose press against hers. He was right, it had been years since she'd been around. But as she kissed him, it only felt like hours. He still kissed the same as he had back in Paris, the first time he'd pushed her against a wall in that alleyway and rammed his face into hers in an attempt to disguise them both from the suspects chasing down the street. He'd apologised afterwards, brusque and steady, as if that was the only possible way of hiding there was and that was that.

"_Don't be sorry,"_ Jen had told him, and that night she'd lay next to him with the sheets tangled round her waist while the moon shone through the windows and he kissed and stroked the bruise on her shoulder blade she'd got when he pushed her into the wall the first time, and the graze on her shoulder she'd got when he'd done it again.

"God, I missed you," Gibbs breathed as they separated.

"Me too," Jen whispered, reaching for his hand.

Gibbs cupped her hand in his, stroking the skin on the back of her hand with his thumb. Sometimes, when you have a picture in your head, a memory, the reality is a disappointment. You erase the flaws and replace them with perfection. This wasn't like that. Jen was just as Gibbs remembered her. He'd held her in his mind for so long – her hair, her voice, her skin, her nose – and now, faced with her in the flesh, it was all he could do not to just hold her close to him and absorb her essence.

"So," Jen said, swinging her legs over and sliding forwards so she was on the other side of the desk, facing Gibbs. "What keeps you here, two hours past quitting time? If I remember correctly, you were always the one with your backpack slung over your shoulder at a quarter to, trying to bribe the janitor to cut the phone wires so we wouldn't get a case."

"I'm waiting for a call," Gibbs said, remembering why he was still there and feeling a stab of guilt at the thought that he was making out in the office while Kate and Tony could be anywhere.

"From your team in Paris?" Jenny asked.

Gibbs nodded.

"Don't worry," Jen whispered, squeezing Gibbs' hand. "Remember all those times we didn't call Mike, when we were undercover? What we were doing?"

"Oh, I remember," Gibbs murmured. "Believe me, I remember."

As if he'd ever forget.

"It's been too long," Jenny sighed.

"It has." There was a pause, the Gibbs sighed and looked up at Jen. "So, what brings you back to DC?" he asked.

Jen smiled faintly. "I was getting sick of the sun," she said. "I applied for a transfer. It was here or Maine."

"You don't like Maine?"

"I love Maine. But I have my pick of assignments, now, and not a lot happens in Maine. Besides, here there's... more."

"And why haven't you gone home?"

"I haven't got a home," Jenny smiled. "I have a hotel."

"All the more reason to go back," Gibbs pointed out. "You have to pay."

"I was talking to Ducky," Jenny explained. "Or rather, Ducky was talking to me. He left half an hour ago."

Gibbs got to his feet, picking up his cell phone and tucking it onto his belt. Jen watched him from her spot on his desk, propping her chin in her hand and waiting. Gibbs surveyed her in the half-light of the darkened bullpen. The lamp on his desk turned her ivory, made her glow almost ghostly. She really was beautiful, he thought. There hadn't been many women since Jen. There'd been a wife, redheaded just like her, with green eyes that were always cold and skin that never seemed to warm to his touch, no matter what he did. Between Jen and The Wife, there had been another redhead. About as different from Jen as could be. Tiny, barely five foot – she made Kate look like a giant. Brown eyes, short red hair, and a twenty-year age gap that had embarrassed both of them so much they broke up. Then after The Wife, when Gibbs had sworn off redheads forever, he'd dated a blonde. If DiNozzo ever found out, he'd be elevated to hero status. Six foot, giant bambi eyes and a lisp. Her eyes, unfortunately, had been bigger than her brain, and their relationship lasted four months only because she seemed to be too dense to understand Gibbs was breaking up with her, and he felt so cruel doing so. And, apart from the redheaded fling-with-a-name that occasionally appeared at NCIS and sent Kate and Tony into days of hushed debates as they agonised over who she could possibly be, that was it. The odd one-night-stand, the occasional date. Nothing that lasted more than a fortnight at the most. Gibbs suspected there were more men after Jen than there were women after him – he always had – so he didn't ask about her love life. It was none of his business anyway. It was nice, though, to think that even if there were hundreds of suitors outside right now, clamouring for her attention, she had come to him. Come back.

Gibbs cleared his throat.

"Would you like a lift to your hotel?" he asked.

* * *

Jen yawned, tucking the blanket tighter around her shoulders and watching Gibbs bicep tighten as he raked the sander over a rib on his boat. He was still just as handsome as he'd been when they were partners.

"Tell me about your team," Jen said, sipping the bourbon Gibbs had poured her – _'there's still no heating in here' _he'd said, offering her the bottle – "the one that's working this Paris case."

An hour and a half ago, Gibbs had pulled up on his driveway with Jen half-asleep in the passenger seat. _"This isn't my hotel,"_ she said, blinking and looking around. _"This is your house."_

"_So it is,"_ Gibbs had grinned, _"Oopsy."_

Now, Gibbs was working away at the boat, his old NIS tshirt stained with dust and wood, and Jen was watching. She had a pair of Gibbs' old flip flops on, to protect her feet from nails and splinters, and her pyjamas. Gibbs had been right – it was cold down in the basement. When she'd pointed out the fact, Gibbs had set down his tools and gone upstairs, returning moments later with a blanket and handing it to Jen wordlessly before taking up the tools again and sanding away again in silence.

He hadn't spoken since, concentrating on his boat and not a lot else. Hence Jen trying to break up the silence.

"I only have one team," Gibbs smiled.

"What are they like?"

"You've met McGee," Gibbs replied after a pause. "He's the one who poured coffee over you. Tony and Kate are in Paris."

"And are in big trouble," Jen added. Gibbs looked at her for a second, frowning slightly before returning to his boat with a dismissive grunt. "Come on, I know that tone, Jethro. You want to know why they haven't rung you to tell you they're safe. Either they aren't safe, in which case you'll go to the ends of the earth to save them, or they're in big trouble."

"Kate's like you," Gibbs said, changing the subject to answer Jen's original question. "She's tough, desperate to prove... I don't know what. She won't let people think she's vulnerable, even when she is..."

"It's a man's world," Jen pointed out.

"She does good," Gibbs murmured, rubbing a section of wood particularly hard and sending wood shavings cascading down over his feet. "Very good."

Jen tilted her head. "I bet you never tell her that," she said, fixing Gibbs with a strong gaze and drawing his eyes up to meet hers. "I bet it would mean a lot to her."

"I tell her," Gibbs muttered.

"Mike never told me," Jenny said softly, slipping off the stool and approaching Gibbs.

"Mike didn't need to tell you," Gibbs pointed out, turning to face Jen and resting his dusty hands on her hips. "You knew. Like Kate knows. _I_ told you. I'm sure Tony tells her."

"It wasn't the same," Jen whispered. "You should tell her. You're the one who says she's desperate to prove herself."

"No, I said I don't know what she's trying to prove," Gibbs corrected.

"And I'm telling you, she's trying to prove _herself_. You said she's like me. If she is, then that's what she's doing."

"She doesn't need to prove herself to me," Gibbs cast his eyes over the boat and swallowed. He wasn't entirely sure bringing Jen back here had been a good idea. He hadn't even intended to do it, until he saw the traffic queue on the way to the hotel and changed his mind. And, as much as he cared about her, he wasn't sure he liked her telling him about his own team. He could handle Kate himself, thank you very much.

Of course, there was a tiny fact that Gibbs knew very well that Jen was probably right. The fact was, they _were_ alike. That was one of the reasons he had hired Kate in the first place – she had a feistiness in her, a stubborn streak, but the sense to pick her battles and to know when to quit, that reminded him of Jen. And, try as he might, Gibbs could not forget the nights when he'd lay in bed and watch Jen pace. Up and down the room she'd go, to and fro, wringing her hands and fiddling with her clothes and hair, sometimes even crying (though she tried to hide that, even from him) and wondering aloud if she was good enough. If not, why not? And if she was, why did Mike never say so? God, she used to beat herself up trying to be perfect for that man... it didn't matter how many times Gibbs promised her she was the best agent he knew, or that Mike knew it as well and was just too caught up in his own world to realise that she actually wanted – _needed_ – his approval, it was never enough.

"You did okay for yourself without him telling you," Gibbs pointed out.

Promotion after promotion after promotion had fallen into his partner's lap. The first one, the one that took her away from him and all the way to California, was the only one he knew directly of. The rest... he'd heard things. From Ducky, from colleagues, from the Agent Profile in the NCIS archives that he picked up and scanned through when he needed to know she was happy. The truth was, when he'd told Tony about Jen, he'd lied when he said he didn't know where she was. He knew she was still in Santa Monica, he knew she had worked her way up the pole until she had the agency at her feet and it was just a matter of time before she made director.

Sometimes he prayed she would, so she'd come back to DC. Sometimes he prayed she wouldn't, so he wouldn't have to look at her every day and know he'd lost her years ago.

"I would have done just as well here," Jen said. "I would have been just as happy. If I didn't think I needed to show him I could do it, I would never have left."

Gibbs blinked. In his moments of self-loathing, he'd believed Jen left because of him. When he was rational, however, and didn't hate himself quite so much, he had always secretly suspected that it was a matter of proving what she could do.

He wasn't sure he was willing to let Kate do that to Tony. He wasn't sure either of them deserved it. He wasn't sure that he could bear to stand by and watch while Kate, wrapped in her holier-than-thou cloak of protection and armed with her know-it-all sword of destruction, high-tailed it to the other side of this vast country and bled herself dry in an effort to escape his criticism and show him that she was capable, while Tony pined for her in DC.

Assuming they made it back to Washington in one piece, at least, which was looking increasingly unlikely with every minute that went by and the phone didn't ring.

Jenny took the sander from Gibbs' hand, where it was resting against her left hip and making the skin itch under the thin protection of her cotton top. His hands, as they brushed against hers in an attempt to reclaim his tools, were just as they used to be. Calloused and rough with a blister on his gun-hand that had scarred and re-formed countless times. Jenny used to kiss that blister while she rubbed moisturiser into her own skin, cradling the cracked, dry skin in her own soft, pale fingers and stroking the lines and marks that were etched in from years of experience with guns and blood. She used to try and persuade him to let her rub moisturiser or lotion into them, to soothe them and stop the skin drying out and cracking again.

"_Marines don't wear lotion," _he'd growl, pinning her down and discarding the bottle. _"And I am a Marine."_

Jen put the sander down on the workbench behind Gibbs, sliding her hands into his and reaching up onto her tiptoes to kiss him. She could feel his hands leave hers and wrap around her waist, pushing her against the edge of the half-built boat and resting on her shoulders, holding her there. The wood dug into her spine, rubbing against it and making her gasp at the unexpected, slight pain that it caused. Gibbs pulled away, looking a little concerned that he might have hurt her, but when she grinned at him, he just shrugged and leaned forwards again.

* * *

Jen turned over and sighed. It was dark, the curtains were still open, and the moonlight floated in and cast water shadows on her stomach from the half-drunk bottle of white wine that was beside the bed. She didn't remember drinking any, but she remembered Jethro slipping from the bed earlier on, when she was still half-dazed and sweaty, and returning with two glasses. Those glasses were standing on the bedside table now, the remains of alcohol floating in the bottom. One had red lipstick stains on, and Jen licked her lips. They tasted like wine and Gibbs, not lipstick. Not anymore, anyway.

Jenny reached down and tugged the crisp, white sheets up and tucked them around her shoulders, shivering slightly. She had been too hot to want blankets earlier, more than content to just fall asleep as she was with Gibbs arm draped over her stomach and his panting a still-familiar sound in her ear. Now, though, she was cold. She wriggled closer to Gibbs, snuggling her legs against his and resting her head on his chest. His hand came round behind her, stroking her shoulder, and she looked up. His blue eyes crinkled round the edges as he looked at her, and she smiled back.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered, reaching up with her own hand and wiping a smear of her lipstick off his cheek.

"You didn't," Gibbs replied. "I wasn't asleep."

Jen lifted her head to try and see the clock behind Gibbs.

"It's just gone two," he said.

Jenny bit her lip. She knew Gibbs well enough to pick up on what he hadn't said in that sentence – that two am in DC meant it was eight in the morning in Paris. That that made it twelve hours since Gibbs' team had gone to dinner with those terrorists. A whole night, when they hadn't called to say they were alright.

Jen sighed, resting her chin on Gibbs' chest and stroking her fingers along the faded scars on his arm.

"The war?" she asked, trying to change the subject, tracing the jagged lines that glowed white in the moonlight in a stark contrast to Gibbs' tanned skin.

Gibbs nodded sadly.

"Shrapnel," he murmured, looking down at the scars. "I was lucky. There were... others. Worse. Disfigured, paralysed... dead."

Jen nodded. "I always wondered," she admitted, stroking the marks. "But I didn't like to ask."

Gibbs sighed, pressing a kiss to Jenny's forehead and squeezing her shoulders closer against his torso before resting his chin on her head and closing her eyes. "You can always ask, Jen," he murmured.

The room was quiet, that still, fragile silence that only comes at night time, when it feels like you're the only people in the whole world who are awake. Jen rubbed Gibbs' scars with the palm of her hand, trying to somehow soothe a pain that was years old and untouchable. Gibbs had been a part of her life for so long, whether he was physically present or not, that imagining a time before herself in Gibbs' own life was hard. It was partly vanity, wishing that she was as central to Gibbs' history as he was to hers, and partly fear – Gibbs had never spoken about his past, not to her nor to anyone she knew, even Ducky. What could have happened to him to make him want to erase an entire part of his life?

Suddenly, out of the blue, there came a loud, shrieking ring. Jen jumped, startled by the noise that yanked her back to the present with such harsh tones, and Gibbs rolled over and grabbed the phone from the side of the bed.

"DiNozzo?" he barked, his tone threatening and dangerous but his eyes betraying the fact that, angry as he may be at not having been contacted, there were only two people in the world he wanted to hear from right now and if this wasn't one of them he wasn't sure he would be able to breathe. His hands were clutching the sheets, so tightly his knuckles were white, and Jen sat up and watched as Gibbs fell back against the pillows, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes.

"Is that them?" she asked, twisting the covers between her hands.

Gibbs glanced at her, before rolling off the bed and leaving the room without answering. Jenny bit her lip and watched him walk away, before the door shut and she was left to sit by herself and stare at the closed door. She could hear Gibbs muttering, sometimes shouting, but she couldn't make out the words. She was on the verge of getting up herself and going to see Gibbs, find out what was going on and see if he knew anything about his agents yet, when the door opened again and Gibbs returned.

"Was that..."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs sighed, throwing his phone on the bed. "Yes."

"And...?"

Gibbs rubbed his eyes, making his way into the en suite bathroom and turning the shower on.

"You said you had your pick of assignments?" he called over the running water, his voice grim.

Jen blinked. That wasn't an answer. "Yes?" she replied.

Gibbs stuck his head out of the bathroom door, toothbrush in hand. "How would you feel about taking a little trip to Paris?"

"Um..." Jen stuttered.

"Great," Gibbs said through a mouthful of toothpaste, gesturing at the bed where the phone was lying among the sheets. "Call Morrow, tell him I need to see him."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N:_ Thanks for the reviews guys! I'm glad you like the Jibbs stuff. There'll be more (obviously) but not in this chapter. This is back in Paris, with Kate and Tony... we've gone back in time... spoooooky... And don't worry, you'll find out why Tony rang Gibbs.

Enjoy!

* * *

Kate frowned, staring at the open doors of the walk-in-closet in her bedroom. Rows and rows of clothes hung neatly, an array of colours and fabrics and designer labels. There were skirts – floaty and feminine, soft and swirly. Sweaters, made of cashmere and as soft to the touch as a newly-hatched duckling. Trousers, dresses, shirts, in every conceivable colour and fabric under the sun. Shoes, too, lined up in rows underneath the rails of clothes, grouped together by style and colour, organised by whichever poor agent whose job it had been to set up this apartment for them. Kate was sure there were more designer labels staring her in the face right now than could be found in any department store in the city.

"Are you ready yet?" Tony called, some sense of decency prompting him to knock on the door instead of just barging in. Why this gentlemanly side had suddenly appeared – especially now when, by rights, Tony could walk in on Kate whenever he wanted – Kate couldn't say, but she was glad it had as she crossed her fingers behind her back and glanced behind her.

"Almost," she called. "Give me a second..."

"We need to go in fifteen minutes," Tony said, and Kate could just picture the worried look on his face as he stared at his watch and contemplated which would be more dangerous – turning up late to dinner with terrorists, or rushing Kate when she was getting ready for said dinner.

"I know," Kate consoled him through the door, giving her wardrobe a disparaging glance. "I'll be ready."

Kate heard Tony sigh, but he obviously believed her because his footsteps pattered away and the TV came on. Kate blinked and turned back to the closet.

'_Focus, Todd'_, she told herself. _'It's not hard. Focus.'_

God. It would be so much easier if Tony _had_ come into the room. He would help. Incredulous, he may be – 'I have nothing to wear' was not, after all, a refrain Kate normally indulged in, particularly when faced with a whole roomful of clothes a vast majority of womankind would kill for. At that moment, however, it was true. After all – what _did_ one wear to an expensive dinner with a terrorist? Did one flaunt the fact that one was (as far as the terrorist was concerned, at least) a multi-millionaire and turn up dripping with diamonds and Dior? Or did one demonstrate one's class and restraint, and dress in a classic outfit that didn't scream _'Look at all my money!!' _? Obviously, dressing as a stripper would be out of the question, as would donning a business suit, but where was the line between 'feminine' and 'slutty'? In the real world, Kate knew these distinctions. She knew how to dress herself for different people and situations in her sleep. And if she got it wrong, and inadvertently wore the wrong kind of trousers or a sweater that was too bright, well. Deal with it.

Here, though. Undercover. Dressing for terrorists. Appearances were everything. Impressions mattered, and in this world, Kate didn't have the privilege she had in the real world of being able to use her brain or her skills to out-perform any man in the room who dared think she might be a bimbo. In this world, things like clothes really were important.

What was a girl to do?

Fifteen minutes. Kate sighed and looked in the mirror. Her hair, freshly washed and blow-dried, was still loose. After all, she couldn't do her hair until she'd decided on what jewellery to wear. And how could she do that when she didn't know what clothes she was going to put on? Likewise, her face was devoid of make-up. She really, really needed help.

"Tony?" she called, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah?" Tony bellowed back.

"Um, could you come here a second, please?"

There was a pause, and then the door handle turned.

"Um," Kate jumped in, before Tony came in the room. "Can I just say something before you come in?"

"Yeah..."

"I, uh... I'm not quite ready yet. I need your help. But just remember, okay, that the most important thing is getting there. We don't have time for you to get mad with me, okay?"

"Kate, just how 'not quite ready' are you?"

"Erm..."

Tony poked his head round the door and blinked. The bed, piled high with coat hangers holding dresses and skirts, was barely visible. There were shoes all over the floor, and blouses and sweaters draped over every single surface he could see. The closet was still practically full. The room looked like one of the crime-scenes NCIS investigated, after places got ransacked as a criminal searched for papers or data in among the personal possessions, with no care for neatness. Kate was in the middle of the carnage, barefoot, in her bathrobe, just as she had been forty minutes earlier when she'd sat at Tony's side with her head against his shoulder and suggested they stay at home and go to sleep instead.

Wonderful.

"Kate..." Tony growled, fixing her with his best Gibbs-glare and trying to sound menacing.

"You can be mad when we come back," Kate promised, "just for now... help me?"

Tony sighed. He wouldn't be mad at Kate when they got back – he knew it, and Kate knew it. When they got back, he'd want to stroke her and hold her close and fall asleep with her in his arms and his face hidden in her neck, her tiny body curled against his so that he was completely sheltering her, because that was the only way he'd feel like he was doing anything to protect anyone, instead of just playing into the hands of the baddies. If Tony was going to yell at Kate, he had to do it now – a domestic showdown in front of Stefan was hardly conducive to the cause, and it simply wouldn't happen later on, so now was the time to do it. Tony wanted to, in a way. It might relieve some of the tension that was making his head spin. Besides, she did deserve it.

But something about the way she had looked at him all trusting, and the way she said 'help me?' as if she knew all along he would, made him not want to shout at her at all. So instead, he rifled through the nearest selection of dresses and chose one that looked, to him, like it might be suitable.

"No," Kate protested. "I don't like that colour."

Tony dropped it on the bed and reached for another dress. Kate took it and held it up against herself, wrinkling her nose.

"No," she said, handing it back. "I don't like it."

Tony glanced at the label, price tag still hanging off. "It cost six thousand bucks!" he exclaimed.

"So?" Kate retorted.

Muttering something under his breath that Kate couldn't quite hear, but was fairly sure was a pretty insulting comment on her taste, Tony grabbed another dress. Kate shook her head. She could sense Tony was getting irritated, but she couldn't help it. Tony pushed another dress into her hands.

"Put it on," he commanded, folding his arms, and he looked and sounded so much like Gibbs that Kate had taken her robe off and was stepping into the dress before she even realised what she was doing.

"Don't order me around," she said, that oh-so-familiar look of outrage crossing her face.

"I like your bra," Tony grinned.

"Shut up," Kate muttered, deliberately leaning forward so her hair hid her face and Tony didn't see the colour rising in her cheeks or the smile on her lips.

"Made you blush," Tony teased.

"Shut up and do the zip up," Kate frowned, turning to the side so Tony could access the zipper.

"Don't order me around," Tony mocked, but he did as he was told. "Very nice," he said, turning Kate by the shoulders and looking her up and down.

Kate glanced at him, not convinced, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. "I don't know..." she sighed, turning to the side. "Do you think it makes me look fat?"

"Kate," Tony groaned. "You couldn't look fat in a sumo-suit. It's fine."

Kate sighed. "Can I try another one?" she pleaded. "I don't like it."

"No," Tony said, leading Kate to the dressing table and handing her a hair-tie and a can of hairspray. "Now do whatever it is you do to your hair to make it tie up onto the top of your head and let's get out of here."

Giving Tony a glare that let it be known she was distinctly unimpressed, Kate threw the hair-tie at him and reached for a handful of hair grips. Securing her hair into a chignon, she gave Tony the most defiant look she could summon up and reached for her make up. Tony waited as patiently as he could, hopping from foot to foot like a small boy who needed the bathroom. Kate slicked mascara onto her eyelashes and swept the eyeliner pencil under her lids, making Tony grimace and look away. As much as he was sure Kate was more than capable of putting on eyeliner, he didn't like seeing her with something that sharp so close to her eyes. It made him nervous.

"I need shoes," Kate declared, dropping the make up on the dresser. "And a bag."

Tony wanted to argue how desperate the 'need' for a bag really was, but the look on Kate's face made it clear it would be futile debate. As Kate screwed diamonds into her ears, Tony rummaged in the cupboard and emerged with a pair of stilettos and a matching bag (matching, as far as Tony was concerned, in that they were both black. Kate accepted them without complaint, though, so he couldn't have done too badly). Making a mental note to recommend whoever organised that closet for some kind of award, Tony watched with relief as Kate looked approvingly at his choice.

Kate perched herself on the edge of the bed, slipping her delicate little feet into the heels and reaching down to do up the straps. Her fingers fumbled, trembling as she tried to thread the buckle, and Tony frowned.

"Let me," he said, kneeling down and brushing Kate's hand away gently. When the shoes were secured onto Kate's feet, he took her hand and helped her to her feet. "You're shaking," he observed softly, squeezing Kate's hands and peering into her eyes. "Are you alright?" Kate nodded, looking away. "Sure?"

"I just don't feel great," Kate muttered, nodding her head and trying to tug her hands free. "And Stefan scares me. I hate how he tells me what to do and how to do it. And it's so hard to... I know you think I'm just being ridiculous, but what I wear makes such an impression, it's so important. I'm not used to it, and it's so difficult, and there's something about him that just makes my skin crawl, you know?"

Tony nodded, reaching one hand up and stroking the side of Kate's face. "I know," he said. "He makes me want to throw up. I'm glad I'm not you. But he's not going to hurt you."

"I know, it's just... every time we meet him, I think that someone's told him the truth about us and he's going to drag us off and torture us to death as an example to all the other infidels."

Tony pressed a kiss to Kate's forehead. She was warm, warmer than she normally was, and Tony took her hand again and squeezed it. He didn't like thinking about Kate being afraid. "He won't hurt you, ever," he promised. "I won't let him."

Kate gave a weak smile. "How do you stay so cool with him?" she asked. "When he touches me, it makes me..." Kate gave an involuntary shudder. "How do you do it?"

Tony stroked Kate's hand. "When I was a little boy," he said, "at school, we'd get talks from Marines and Soldiers and I'd stare up at the flag and wonder what it would be like to love something so much you'd die for it."

Kate nodded. Tony didn't talk about his childhood often, so when he did, she – and everyone else – listened.

"I figure this is what it's like," Tony shrugged. "And if I need to remind myself, I recite the Pledge of Allegiance. In my head, obviously. I don't think Stefan would appreciate it."

Kate smiled. That was the Tony she knew and lo- well. Liked. Tony who cracked jokes at inappropriate times and made serious situations bearable, if only by distraction. This new Tony who took control and remained calm and said mature things to make her feel better was wonderful. But the old, outrageous Tony was the real Tony, and that was who she liked best. She was still afraid of Stefan, and she still had butterflies in her stomach that were making her feel slightly ill at the prospect of an entire evening spent in his presence, but she felt comforted by what Tony had said.

"Okay," Kate sighed. "I guess I'm ready."

Tony handed Kate her bag and walked to the door, his fingers entwined with Kate's – still slightly shaky – hand.

"By the way," he said, as they left the apartment and headed for the elevator. "You look beautiful."

* * *

"Are you alright?"

Kate looked up, jolted out of her reverie by Tony's concerned tone. She had been staring out of the car window, watching the rain lash onto the streets so hard it bounced off the pavements, and contemplating the evening ahead.

"I'm fine," she nodded, sliding her hand across the seat to Tony's lap and squeezing his knee. "Just thinking."

"You look pale," Tony said, still sounding worried. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Kate promised. "I'm just tired."

"Do you -"

"I'm fine, Tony," Kate insisted. "There's nothing wrong with me."

Tony wasn't entirely convinced, but he accepted Kate's assurances and didn't press. Kate turned back to the window, resting her head on the window and closing her eyes. She could sense Tony's eyes on her, watching, making sure she really was alright. Which was fair enough, but still. He should trust her. Then again, she hadn't been entirely truthful. She _was_ fine, but she wasn't 'just tired'. Her stomach hurt, and she must be coming down with something because she felt colder than she really should do when she was in a heated car with a coat on. She really was fine, though. She wasn't about to collapse or anything. Tony worried far too much for his own good, sometimes. And he accused _her_ of being too stressed out!

The car pulled up outside the restaurant, and Kate shivered as their driver opened the car door and goosebumps pricked her arms. Looking at the rain, Kate felt exceedingly grateful for the fact that the car was underneath a canopy and they didn't have to walk so much as a foot without the shelter of a stripy canvas roof to keep them dry. Not only would getting drenched totally suck, it would render the time she spent worrying about her clothes absolutely pointless. Not to mention the fact that Stefan would hardly approve of Kate and Tony turning up to dinner with him looking like drowned rats. Not that it was their fault – they could hardly control the weather, after all – but terrorists weren't exactly known for their sense of fairness and understanding.

A wave of nausea swept over Kate as she stepped out of the car, and she swayed slightly. Tony's hand flew to her elbow instantly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Kate muttered, regaining her balance for a moment, then closing her eyes as dizziness blurred her vision. "I'm fine."

Tony fixed her with his best 'liar liar pants on fire' look, which he suspected was less impressive than he liked to imagine, and curled his arm around Kate's waist. To the casual observer, it would just look lovey-dovey. Really, he was more than a little worried that Kate might faint. The fact that Kate didn't protest his support with so much as a hostile glare served only to heighten Tony's conviction that Kate was not, in fact, 'fine'. Of course, she could be oblivious to the fact he was helping her, and just think that he was playing up the image for Stefan, but he was fairly sure she wasn't that dense. If only he was Gibbs, and could read minds... that would make life – life with Kate, in particular – a whole lot easier.

As they entered the restaurant and joined the small queue for seats, Tony looked around trying to find Stefan. It didn't take him long, even though the restaurant was packed. He was fairly obvious. Tony wasn't sure if that was because Stefan was just a generally noticeable person, or if his heightened sense of danger automatically zoned in on Stefan and Gerard. Either way, they made eye contact within a few seconds of Tony and Kate entering the restaurant, and moments later, Stefan was on his feet and by their side. He greeted them loudly and cheerfully, not toning down his usual welcome just because there were people around. Tugging them out of the line and guiding them to the table, Stefan practically forced the two of them into their chairs and grinned. The other diners were staring, peering out from behind their menus and looking away quickly, and Tony fidgeted. It made him feel uncomfortable. Of course, he would stare too, if he was having a nice peaceful dinner and a real-life Santa Clause got up and greeted two people with hugs and kisses and a loud, booming voice, but still. It was awkward. And, of course, Tony had to greet Stefan in exactly the same way. Embarrassment wasn't a good enough reason to piss the man off.

As they sat down, smiling at Gerard and Sophia in greeting, Tony glanced at Kate. Her hand was clinging to his so tightly that her knuckles were white. She was shaking, too. Though that wasn't really a sure sign of anything being wrong – every time they'd met Stefan previously, Kate had gripped Tony as if he were her lifeline to shore in stormy seas.

"Are you okay?" Tony whispered, as Stefan beckoned the waiter over and ordered a bottle of wine.

Kate nodded, and Tony felt some slight relief as Kate managed to glare at him. Granted, it wasn't up to her normal 'I am _this _close to castrating you...' standard, but it was something.

The wine arrived within seconds, even though the waiters were clearly rushed off their feet, and Tony supposed that Stefan's influence extended to even the most exclusive of eateries. The five of them raised their glasses, and Tony couldn't help but notice that Kate's wine glass shook more than was entirely normal. He didn't want to ask her if she was okay again, but it was all he could do to clink his glass with Gerard's and murmur in response to Stefan's toast. He didn't even know what he'd just drunk to. Kate took a sip of wine, but put the glass down before more than a drop passed her lips and reached for the water. She took a couple of mouthfuls, closing her eyes for a second or two, and Tony felt her fist clench in his.

"Kate -" he began, quietly.

"I'm fine," Kate muttered.

"You don't look it," Tony hissed.

Kate opened her mouth to argue with him, but Stefan interrupted by pushing a menu at Tony with a few words of French and a big smile.

Obediently, Tony opened the leather-bound menu and scanned his eyes over the list of food. Kate bit her lip and curled one arm discreetly over her waist. She wasn't fine. She felt sick now, and her stomach ache was getting worse, not better. She couldn't think why she felt so ill. Her stomach had hurt earlier, in the shower, but she'd put it down to nerves about meeting Stefan and swallowed a couple of Tylenol. The pain hadn't gone away, but it hadn't gotten any worse, and it was bearable. Ignorable, even. Until they'd left the apartment, it had just been a dull throbbing beneath her belly button. Now, it was definitely not ignorable. It wasn't the worst pain she'd ever felt in her life, but it was certainly unlike anything else. It had spread, too, across her entire midriff, and turned from a steady, dull ache to a sharp pain that heightened and then lessened again in waves that made it hard to think. Tony was getting concerned, she knew, but she also knew that if she admitted how she felt he'd take her back to the apartment. They'd already had to reschedule a golf match because she was hungover, and though whatever was wrong with her now wasn't her fault, Kate didn't want to mess up their evening plans. And she didn't want Tony to think he needed to look after her. He seemed to have been doing that a lot lately - more than Kate felt entirely comfortable with.

Tony turned the page of the menu and angled it discreetly so that Kate could see it. He was obviously expected to order for them both, just as Gerard would order for himself and Sophia, but he'd like to give Kate a choice if he could. He felt bad just deciding what she was going to eat and expecting her to accept that. Kate was rubbing her temples, eyes closed, one arm curled around her stomach, and before Tony could get her attention the waiter appeared again. Kate sat up straighter, opening her eyes and concentrating, and the three men ordered the meals.

Stefan engaged Tony in conversation about his granddaughter, Ella, and while Tony listened, he watched Gerard and Sophia interact. They were holding hands on top of the table, Sophia's diamond and ruby rings glinting in the light, and sitting close together. Every now and then Gerard would whisper something to his wife and she would smile at him, her eyes shining, or she would move closer to him or touch his arm and he'd squeeze her hand affectionately. And, when Stefan was telling Tony about how they'd chosen Ella's name, Gerard stared at Sophia and grinned at her like she was a queen and he was her lowly servant. He scraped her hair behind her ear at one point, leaning forwards and whispering adoringly to her in French.

It was odd. Tony had assumed from the start that Sophia was in love with Gerard, totally besotted with him for some unbeknownst reason, and that was why she put up with being treated as substandard, and that Gerard married her to give himself a wife and an heir. Now, though, Tony was having to reassess his perception. Gerard seemed to genuinely love Sophia. It was indeed possible that Sophia didn't mind how she was treated. Maybe she didn't even notice. Or Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe, when Stefan wasn't watching, Gerard was a lot more relaxed than he seemed when his father was standing guard. Either way, even Tony could tell that they were in love and happy. It was... off-putting.

It wasn't long before the food arrived, and Tony accepted his plate from the waiter eagerly. He was starving. He started to eat, tucking into the food with gusto, and glanced across at Kate. She still looked ill, to him, but he didn't want to point that fact out yet again. She wasn't eating, just pushing salad around the plate with her fork, so Tony swallowed his mouthful of steak and nudged her. She jumped, as if she had been in a world of her own, and looked at him.

"Don't kill me, Kate," he said in a hushed voice, "but are you sure you're alright?" Kate nodded. "Then eat," he ordered.

Kate nodded again, lowering her eyes as if she'd just been scolded, and Tony put his knife down and rested a hand on her knee. She gave a faint sort of half-smile, and Tony returned to his dinner, content that he hadn't upset Kate by telling her what to do.

Kate lifted her fork to her mouth, taking a bite of lettuce. Chewing it made her more nauseous, and as she forced herself to swallow, she grimaced.

"Caitlin?" Stefan said, addressing her directly for the first time all evening and looking worried. "What's wrong?"

"Excuse me," Kate muttered, clamping her hand over her mouth and rushing away from the table.

Stefan jumped to his feet. Defensive, afraid that Stefan was angry with Kate, Tony leapt up also. Stefan followed Kate, Tony on his tail, and they reached the bathroom as the door slammed behind Kate. Stefan paused outside the door, then stepped back and allowed Tony to stand in front of him. Glancing at his face, Tony realised – with some surprise – that he wasn't angry at all. Stefan looked just as worried as Tony felt, but there wasn't a trace of anger. Tony pushed the door open, peering inside. There was a washroom attendant standing just inside, who stared at the two of them and informed them politely that this was, in fact, the ladies room. Desperate to follow Kate, Tony hopped from foot to foot, trying to find the words to explain. Stefan came to the rescue, talking quickly and gesturing at the only occupied stall.

The attendant didn't look certain, umm-ing and ahh-ing and glancing between Tony and the door to the stall. Stefan dug his hand into his pocket and handed the man fifty euros, pushing Tony into the bathroom.

"I will keep watch," he said, closing the door.

The attendant stared at Tony, who glared pointedly at him, and he muttered something before turning away and stepping out into the hall with Stefan. Tony rapped his knuckles on the door to the stall.

"Kate?" he called. "Are you alright?"

There was no reply, so he pushed the door. It was unlocked. Tony sucked in his stomach and squeezed around the door and into the stall with Kate, careful not to tread on her. She was slumped over the toilet, her legs limp and her dress tangled, kneeling on the floor. She looked up at Tony, wide-eyed, and he crouched beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder. Thank God for posh restaurants with huge bathrooms, he thought, stroking Kate's sweaty hair away from her damp forehead and wiping a tear off her cheek.

Tony sat on the floor for a few minutes, stroking Kate's shaking calves and holding her hand while she trembled and threw up. Finally, she stopped retching and flopped her head against Tony's chest, her shoulders shuddering as she gasped for breath.

"Are you done?" Tony asked softly, and she nodded.

Tony helped Kate to her feet, flushing the toilet and straightening her dress for her. They went outside, where Tony sat Kate on the marble surface in front of the mirror and ran a glass of water from the tap. The glass clinked against Kate's teeth as she rinsed her mouth, the noise echoing in the quiet and empty bathroom. Tony passed her a damp towel, and she wiped it over her face. Swiping off the running make-up and the sweat, Kate took a deep breath and put the towel down.

"Feel better?" Tony asked, and Kate nodded.

Kate slid off the surface, slightly wobbly on her high heels and still-slightly-shaky legs.

"Ready to go home?" Tony whispered, stroking her hair.

"Tony, no," Kate protested. "I'm okay now, we can stay here -"

Tony rolled his eyes. "You've just been sick," he said. "I'm taking you home."

"But -"

"Not listening," Tony sang, turning and heading to the door.

"I feel better, Tony," Kate lied, taking a few hesitant steps after him.

"La la la la la... I can't hear you..."

Despite herself, Kate smiled weakly as Tony marched on ahead. "Okay," she admitted as a wave of pain coasted over her stomach and her throat tightened. "Wait."

Tony paused, reaching for Kate's hand as she caught up with him, and stepping back out into the hallway. The washroom attendant glanced nervously at Stefan, who shooed him into the bathroom with a smile, and scurried away. Stefan looked Kate up and down, concerned, and Tony spoke to him in French. He nodded, leading them into the main restaurant and beckoning the maitre d' over. Kate and Tony's coats were promptly brought to the table, and while Tony was helped into his, Stefan wrapped Kate's over her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

"I hope you feel better, my darling," he said, squeezing her hand and guiding her by the shoulders into Tony's embrace. Another brief conversation followed between Tony and Stefan, but Kate couldn't understand what they were saying. To be honest, she wasn't sure she'd have taken it in if it had been in English. Even though she'd tried to make Tony stay at the restaurant, she was glad he'd disagreed. Frankly, if she had to stay there, she'd probably collapse.

They made their way outside, the pain in Kate's abdomen increasing with every step she took, and when they got outdoors and into the car she slumped against the door and squeezed her eyes shut. Tony didn't know what to say to her, so he just reached his arm across the back seat and held her hand. The driver had the sense to drive slowly and avoid potholes, and when they reached the apartment, Kate was asleep.

Carefully, Tony lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. He didn't know whether he should put her in her own bed or in his. Since they'd gotten together, she slept beside him. Every night, without fail. Sometimes, they would just stumble into Tony's room together, a mass of hungry kisses and tangled limbs, and it wouldn't occur to either of them to get up and move from the sweaty heap they wound up in. Other times, Tony would go to bed first and wake up in the morning to find Kate by his side, or she would go to bed first and he'd go to his room and see her curled up form under his duvet. Sometimes they even said goodnight and went their separate ways, taking turns to use the bathroom as if they were going to sleep in their own beds, and then Kate would join Tony like that was what they'd intended all along. There hadn't been a night where Kate had gone to bed in her own room and stayed there for more than five minutes without getting up and changing beds. If Kate fell asleep on the sofa, Tony automatically put her in his bed. But she was sick, now. Really sick, by the looks of it. Tony didn't care about catching whatever she had, he'd willingly breath in all her germs if it would give her some comfort, but when he didn't feel good he preferred to be in his own space. Kate might not want to sleep with him while she was unwell, she might want to be in her own room by herself. Then again, her room was still covered in clothes.

Carrying her into his ownbedroom, Tony placed Kate on top of her bed and turned the lamp on. If he put her in his bed, he could sleep on the sofa and he could always go join her if she wanted him to. He eased her heels off, putting them by the closet so Kate wouldn't wake up in the night and step on them, and peered at her hair. He didn't really know how chignons worked… ignoring that for a minute, he unzipped Kate's dress and slid the straps off her shoulders. He tugged it down gently, trying not to wake her, and managed to manoeuvre the garment down to her ribcage. Tony paused. He knew he should be trying to be as quick as possible, but the sight of Kate's skin had him captivated. It was so smooth and soft, pale, glowing slightly in the faint light from the lamp. Sliding the dress further, Tony stroked Kate's waist. She tensed in her sleep, her stomach going hard as the muscles tightened, and Tony paused. Not wanting to wake her, he rubbed her waist softly.

"It's okay," he soothed. "Shh."

Kate's eyes flickered open, her eyelashes dark against her deathly-pale face.

"Ooow," she whimpered, twisting away from Tony's hand. "Don't."

Tony blinked. Don't what? He wasn't doing anything. He reached for Kate as she wriggled, catching her round the middle to try and calm her down. Kate didn't scream, but it was near enough for it to be blatantly obvious to Tony that he was hurting her. He snatched his hands away, as Kate rolled onto her side and gagged.

"Here," Tony said quickly, grabbing the waste paper bin from the floor and holding it in front of Kate. She retched, throwing up into the basket and juddering in pain. She rolled onto her back, her dress still round her waist, her head tilted back as she panted and tears oozed from her tightly-closed eyelids, and Tony stuttered.

"Um," he began. "I'll just... uh... I'll be back in a minute."

He went to the kitchen, throwing the waste bin out, and fetched Kate a glass of water. He went back to the bedroom, sitting beside Kate and swallowing.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to..."

Kate nodded, wiping a hand across her face and taking a deep breath. The pain showed clearly on her face as she sat up, but she didn't make a sound. Tony fetched some pyjamas, and waited patiently while Kate slipped the dress off and tugged her hair free. She grimaced as she leant forwards to pull her stockings off, and Tony bit his lip. He had never seen her in so much pain. It was heart-breaking.

"Shall I get a doctor?" Tony offered.

"No," came the weak reply.

"Shall I call Gibbs?"

"No."

Tony sighed. "What's actually wrong with you?" he asked, as Kate slid down the bed so she was laying down and curled up into a ball.

"I feel sick," Kate whispered. "And my stomach hurts real bad."

Tony stroked Kate's forehead, smoothing out the creases that appeared as she frowned. "You're hot," he sighed.

"No, I'm freezing," Kate murmured.

Tony frowned. That was bad, right? He was sure that was a sign of a fever or something. He wondered if he should get a thermometer, find out exactly how hot Kate really was. When he was little and he didn't want to go to school, Tony would warm up the thermometer on his lamp while his mother was out of the room, and he always got caught because he left it on too long. If he was really that hot, his mother used to tell him, he'd be dead. So how hot was too hot, and how hot was just a bit warm?

While Tony contemplated whether he should go and find a thermometer or stay with Kate, he heard the shift in her breathing and felt the relaxation of her movements that he had come to recognise as her falling asleep. Sighing with relief that she was asleep, but still worried that he should be doing something more than simply sitting there waiting for her to get better, Tony turned out the light and crept out of the room.

* * *

Tony stretched his legs out, yawning. His neck hurt, and his back felt cramped. He blinked for a moment, looking around him. Where was he?

Oh yes. The living room. Tony closed his eyes for a second, sighing heavily, then sat up. Stefan had come over last night, a couple of hours after Kate fell asleep. For a terrorist, he had been remarkably considerate, calling Tony from outside the building so as not to ring the buzzer or knock on the door and disturb Kate. He'd brought her flowers, as well, a huge bouquet of orchids and peonies that now took up almost the entire table in the kitchen. Kate hadn't woken during his visit, which Tony was grateful for. She hadn't woken at all, actually – or if she had, Tony hadn't heard her. He had left her door open especially so he _would_ hear if Kate got up or made a noise.

Tony rubbed his eyes and sighed. It had been a rough night, what with worrying about Kate and then Stefan coming over. And as comfortable as the sofa was, it wasn't a bed. He'd not slept much, between tossing and turning to get comfortable and trying to listen out for Kate. He leant forward, propping his head in his hands, and stared at the coffee table.

The sound of footsteps yanked Tony from his thoughts. He looked up to see Kate, wrapped in a comforter and looking like all the colour had been drained from her whole body, padding over to him.

"Hey," he said softly. She looked like Snow White's evil twin. She was pale, paler than he'd ever seen her, and her eyes were ringed by dark shadows that, contrasted against her deathly white skin, made her look like she'd been in a fight and had wound up with two black eyes. The paleness of her skin made her hair look darker, or vice versa, and the pale pink smudges that were usually present in her cheeks were totally non-existent. Part of Tony wanted to ask her if she'd looked in the mirror on her way to the living room, but the other part – the sensible part – knew that telling any woman but Abby that she looked like a vampire was a sure-fire way to get into trouble, so he restrained himself. "Are you feeling better?"

"A little," Kate murmured, sitting on the sofa and closing her eyes.

Tony assumed she meant 'no'. "You want a hug?" he offered.

Kate looked at him for a second. On the one hand, Tony's hugs were pretty good. He'd give Abby a run for her money. It wouldn't take away any of the pain, but Kate was pretty sure she'd get some comfort from letting Tony hold her close. And he looked like he could do with a hug himself. On the other hand... moving hurt. A lot. Then again, everything hurt. _Breathing_ hurt. And she did want a hug. Kate leant forwards and Tony wrapped his arms over her shoulders and hugged her to his chest. Kate rested her head against his shoulder, breathing in his smell and snuggling against his warmth.

Tony could feel her shaking in his arms. She was still cold. But he could feel her skin, where her forehead rested on his bare shoulder and his hands held her arms, and she felt hot. Hotter than she'd been last night, Tony was sure, yet he could feel her shivering against his body.

"Kate, I'm going to take your temperature," he said.

"In a minute," Kate protested weakly. "Stay here."

There was quiet for what seemed like a long time. Kate could hear the clock ticking on the wall, and the slight humming from the television that was only on standby, and a tap dripping through the open door of the kitchen. There was traffic outside too, and she guessed people must be going to work. She could hear Tony's heart as well, thudding away softly under his sweater. It thrummed softly, ba-doom ba-doom ba-dooming away against her own chest. She dropped a hand down between her own body and Tony's, resting it against the soft cotton of Tony's under shirt, feeling his ribcage rise and fall under her hand and the steady beat of his heart.

She didn't understand why Ducky could have such a fascination with the human body, holed up in his bright little chrome-and-steel morgue with dead people laid out on his table. Human biology had been her least favourite subject at school, the whole thought of it making her feel dizzy, and dead people were even worse. She wasn't queasy about most things, and she was getting used to it now, but she had to admit that, on the whole, she preferred people's insides to be, well, _inside_. The whole idea of slicing up bodies had made her ill when she'd first joined NCIS, despite Abby's helpful observations that it was the same as having your tonsils out, just you were dead and everything was taken out, which hadn't helped nearly as much as Abby seemed to think it would. She'd actually been physically sick on one occasion, when Ducky had taken great pleasure in drawing out a particularly gruesome description of an extremely nasty murder, giving the entire team a running commentary – complete with horrendously vivid and increasingly sickening food metaphors which had put everyone, including Tony, off eating anything other than cornflakes for a whole week – as he did so. It was creepy, Kate thought, to spend your time having conversations with people whose remains were smeared over your scrubs. She used to be freaked out by the silence of the morgue – stepping off the elevator to the sound of Ducky cheerfully chattering away to some poor dead marine about his mother's last trip to the bingo hall, while his scalpel clicked on the metal table and his voice echoed off the walls, gave her the shivers. Until Tony pointed out that it would more concerning to hear a reply, then she'd gotten over her nerves.

Though now, listening to Tony's heartbeat and feeling her own beating away inside her chest, she had to admit that – when all was well and it was working as it should – it was quite impressive.

"What's wrong?" Kate asked, breaking the silence and peering up at Tony.

"Nothing. Stefan came over last night, that's all. He brought you flowers."

"Oh. What did he want?"

"He, uh, introduced me to some... _interesting_... 'business ideas'," Tony said.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well... that's good, isn't it, I suppose. I mean, we always knew he was... and now... we're getting somewhere."

"Yeah," Tony muttered. "I'd just prefer not to have photographic evidence pushed into my face. And I was kinda hoping..."

Kate sighed. "Me too," she murmured.

They sat still for a couple of minutes, thinking. Tony knew that Stefan was a terrorist, he knew Gerard was. NCIS did not send two agents to another continent for three months 'just in case'. They didn't have the resources. They didn't have the resources to do it when they knew for sure, actually. They had to get the FBI and the CIA to help. But still. Getting to know these men, seeing their family, Gerard's little girl... and they way Stefan had looked after Kate yesterday, paying the washroom attendant to let Tony in the bathroom and bringing her flowers... if it all turned out to be a misunderstanding, Tony wouldn't have had any objections. And he was worried about Kate. She was obviously not any better. She looked worse, in fact. She was in pain, serious pain, and she had a fever – that much Tony was sure of, even without a thermometer. Nobody healthy shivered and shook like they'd been in an ice bath while their skin felt like a radiator. He wasn't sure what to do.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Tony asked, stroking Kate's hair. Kate shook her head. "Does it still hurt?" Tony asked softly. Kate nodded, biting her lip and mumbling, "Worse", and Tony sighed.

"You need a doctor," he said, stroking her hair.

"No!"

"We could call Ducky," he suggested.

"No, Tony," Kate groaned.

"What, you want to wait until you collapse before you let me get you some proper medical attention?"

Kate opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, she covered her mouth and ran to the bathroom. Tony rubbed his head, staring forlornly at the closed bathroom door, and waited. If just his hands massaging her abdomen had been enough to make Kate cry last night, he dreaded to think what kind of pain she must be in now she'd scrambled off the sofa like that.

Kate didn't emerge from the bathroom, so Tony got to his feet and fetched a glass of water. He knocked on the bathroom door, glass in hand, and waited.

"Katie?" he called softly. "I brought you some water, can I come in?" No answer. "Kate? Are you alright?" Still, there was no response.

Tony turned the door handle slowly and pushed the door open slightly. "I'm coming in now, okay? If you want me to leave you alone then speak now or forever hold your peace." Tony stepped into the bathroom, frowning as he saw Kate. She was sitting, her knees tucked up to her chest, her head resting on top. Even from the doorway, Tony could see the tears running down her cheeks and soaking the knees of her pyjamas. She looked so tiny, all curled up on the tiles like that, and young. Fragile.

"Here," Tony said, sitting beside her and passing the glass of water.

Kate sipped it, struggling to swallow through her tears. As soon as the water went down her throat, however, she flopped forwards and threw up into the toilet. Tony caught her ponytail, holding it out of the way, and rubbed her back like his mother did for him when he was a little boy to distract himself from watching Kate being sick. A few seconds later, she flushed the toilet and dropped her head down to the seat, her arms and legs limp and her breathing shallow. Not sure what to do, Tony slipped his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck.

"Sorry," Kate whimpered, wiping her eyes and leaning back into Tony's embrace.

"Don't be sorry," Tony soothed, holding Kate as tight as he felt he could without hurting her. Not, he supposed from the way Kate was crying, that it would make a difference anymore. "Don't cry, Kate, it's alright."

"It hurts," Kate gasped, digging her nails into her palms until her hands had small nail-shaped bruises on and Tony was afraid she was going to draw blood.

"I know," Tony said, even though he really didn't, as he slipped his hand into Kate's. "You can squeeze my hand, don't scratch yourself."

Kate clung to Tony tightly, making him wince when she wasn't looking. Eventually she stopped crying and just lay against him, breathing in short, shallow breaths and trembling. "Tony?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Yeah?"

"Can you call Ducky?"

* * *

Kate was asleep. Which, Tony supposed, was a good thing. She'd been drifting in and out of wakefulness for an hour and a half, while he tried to get hold of Ducky. Unfortunately, it seemed to be nigh on impossible to find him. He wasn't at NCIS. He wasn't at home. He wasn't picking up his cell phone. Every time Kate woke up, she was in more pain, and it was harder for her to get back to sleep. And every time she did sleep, it was more fitful and for a shorter time. Her fever was worse – Tony had finally gotten round to actually taking her temperature before he called Ducky the first time, and had been shocked to find that it was 103.2. He'd taken it every time she'd woken, since then, and it had gone up every time. It was 103.6 last time he'd checked, and Tony was convinced it was rising by the second. He glanced at the clock. It was just gone two in the morning, in DC. Ducky would only be at home or at work, surely? Unless Abby had taken him to a rave… She might have dressed him up in some purple velvet, told her friends he was her pimp or something… Doubtful. Possible, but doubtful.

Kate stirred, opening her eyes and immediately screwing them shut again. She let out a slight whimper of pain, and Tony closed his eyes. He wasn't sure if he believed in God or not, but if He did exist, Tony thought it couldn't do any harm to give Him a quick message informing Him that any help contacting Ducky – or making Kate magically better – would be very much appreciated. Of course, God was supposed to be all-seeing and all-knowing, so Tony shouldn't need to send the message anyway, but that was what prayers were for. Desperate measures in times of extreme stress. Logic didn't exactly come into it. Tony suspected Kate – and a few other billion people – might disagree with the 'desperate measures' thing, but whatever. It was his prayer.

Tony reached for the thermometer, glancing at it before holding it out to Kate. She opened her mouth immediately – she had long since given up trying to get Tony to leave her alone – and held it under her tongue as she curled up as slowly and as painlessly as she could.

"103.6," Tony said, when the second hand on his watch ticked into place. Still too high, but at least it hadn't gone up again. The ibuprofen he'd dug out of the medical kit must be working. Not that that was a great comfort, when Kate was still lying over the couch with her drenched hair stuck to her flushed face while she shivered and begged for blankets, but it was something.

If it was up to Tony, he'd have called a doctor over an hour ago. He could just imagine Ducky's incredulity, when he realised Kate had been in this state for so long without medical attention. Since last night, Tony supposed, though she'd gotten a lot worse this morning. Then again, it wasn't like he'd been standing guard through the night – for all he knew, Kate could have been sick like this all night long. But Kate kept telling him no, when Tony said he was going to call a doctor. So, Tony had rationalised. Sure, she was in pain, but it couldn't be that bad. Otherwise Kate wouldn't protest when he tried to get a medic. And her fever was high, but it wasn't as high as it could be. She still had a few more degrees to go before it would be dangerous not to get her to a doctor _immediately_. And for all he knew, the vomiting could just be a reaction to some dodgy food.

Even so.

"Kate," Tony sighed, twiddling a sodden strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. "If we don't get Ducky this time, I'm going to call a doctor."

Kate didn't even reply, just buried her face in her arms and seized a mouthful of cushion to stop herself crying out in pain. Tony sighed.

Tony hit 'send' again, the laptop propped on his lap, while the screen remained resolutely blank. Tony counted in his head – 'one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…' He reached twenty, and was about to cancel the request and ring Ducky's home, when the screen flickered into life.

"Tony? Is that you?"

See? Desperate measures. Deciding his lapsed belief in God was firmly un-lapsed, Tony gripped the laptop as if Ducky might disappear any second. He had never been so grateful to see that autopsy room, with it's sterilised surfaces and rows of surgical instruments.

"Kate's sick," Tony said, without so much as a 'hello'.

Ducky, however, was used to brusque greetings after so many years with Gibbs, and didn't flinch. He simply glanced at the black body bag laying on a table behind him and took off his hat. "Well, I suppose Corporal Mackintosh can wait a few minutes," he smiled wryly. "How sick is she?"

Tony turned the laptop, angling it so Ducky could see Kate. Kate looked up, her pale face and dark eyes meeting Ducky's, and Ducky frowned. "Hey Ducky," she murmured.

Tony twitched as Ducky settled himself on the stool in front of the computer and set about unbuttoning his coat. He was so calm and collected. It was all Tony could do not to jump up and down like a spoilt three-year-old and scream 'now!'. Couldn't Ducky _see_ Kate? Did he not grasp the gravity of the situation?

"What seems to be the problem, Kate?" Ducky asked gently, after what seemed to Tony like an age but in reality must have been about ten seconds.

"I'm dying," Kate muttered in response, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain as speaking send ripples of agony through her midriff.

"You're not dying," Tony soothed, rubbing Kate's arm. "Right Ducky?"

"Of course you're not dying," Ducky promised. "But you probably do need a doctor."

"You're a doctor," Kate winced.

"I'm in Washington," Ducky smiled. "Now, does it hurt anywhere in particular?"

"Her stomach," Tony interrupted, holding Kate's hand as she took a deep breath and grimaced. He could see her biting her lip to stop herself whimpering, and although Ducky had addressed his question to Kate, Tony couldn't bear to wait around for her to get herself together enough to get a sentence out. He wished she wouldn't try to be brave like that. "And she's been sick a bunch of times," he added. That was worth mentioning, obviously, and he didn't want to wait for Ducky to get around to asking.

"Whereabouts in your stomach, Kate?" Ducky asked, nodding at Tony to show he'd heard. Normally, by now, Ducky would have started on a story about the last time he was trekking through the Himalayas. It must be bad, Tony thought, for him to be focused so entirely on one aspect of a conversation.

Kate rested her hand underneath her navel, grimacing as she touched her stomach. "Then it moved," she said, dragging her limp hand across to the right. "When it got worse."

"She's got a fever, too," Tony added. "103.6."

"Well, Kate, the good news is I doubt you're dying," Ducky smiled.

That didn't rate very highly as far as Good News went, as far as Tony was concerned. Not that he wanted Kate to die, of course, but if he had thought for a moment that it was a real possibility, he would have taken Kate to a hospital hours ago. "And the bad news?" Tony pressed.

"It sounds to me like she has appendicitis," Ducky said. "You need to go to a hospital."

Kate buried her head in Tony's lap. "I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered. Tony doubted she'd heard a word Ducky just said.

"Go on then," Tony replied, helping Kate up.

Kate got to her feet, swaying slightly on the spot and clutching Tony's hand tighter. She closed her eyes, leaning forwards from the pain, and let go of Tony before taking a couple of stumbling steps. Kate opened her eyes again, and the room span. Everything around her was whirling about, spinning and flying and leaping in a blur. It felt the same as when she would get off a merry go round as a child, just faster and scarier. And it hurt. It hurt less when she shut her eyes, but it was scarier when she did because she could feel everything spinning but she couldn't see. She became aware of how heavy her body was, and how hard her legs had to work to keep herself upright. It would be nice if she could just lie down, but she couldn't find her way to the sofa. She couldn't see anything, now, even though she had her eyes open – everything was moving too fast. Her head was hurting, almost as much as her stomach but not quiet, and she still felt like she was going to throw up, and then everything went black.

Tony caught Kate as her knees buckled and she dropped down, yanking her towards himself so she didn't hit her head on the table. Hoisting her limp form onto the sofa and peering at her ashen face, pressing his fingers against her neck and searching for her pulse, Tony thanked God she was unconscious and hadn't felt him catch her around her waist. The pain would have been unbearable.

"My dear boy," Ducky said from the laptop, his face as sombre as Tony had ever seen it. "I suggest you call an ambulance."


	15. Chapter 15

Hey everyone. Thank you so much for the reviews! This isn't very long, sorry. But there will be another chapter in a moment (unless my internet dies again, which it has been doing all day. Fingers crossed...)

This is Jibbs again, but from now on everyone will be together in Paris so we won't have to jump between. Anyways. Enjoy!

Oh, and there is a brief mention of SWAK in this chapter, so if you haven't seen that and don't know what happens... slap yourself, go watch it, and them come back. K? ;)

* * *

Jenny smiled as she swung her hand-luggage into the over-head storage on the sumptuous private jet and Gibbs rested his hand on the small of her back, reaching up and pushing the rucksack the final few inches onto the shelf.

"Still a gentleman," she commented, as Gibbs threw his bag up to join hers.

God only knows where Morrow got this little beauty from at such short notice – unless the parking garage had a secret airbase out the back – but it was certainly a step-up from the rickety 747 that had deposited Jen in DC less than twenty-four hours previously. She hated flying anyway, and after that journey (complete with scratchy seat coverings, crying children and turbulence that would have given Tigger motion sickness) Jenny had made up her mind never to set foot in plane again.

So much for that idea.

Maybe a better resolution would be to never set foot in a plane again, until she became a multi-millionaire and had her own private jet.

"Still don't like flying?" Gibbs asked, plopping himself down in the seat opposite her and watching as she fiddled with the cuffs on her sleeves.

"I never told you that," Jenny replied, looking at Gibbs. She was slightly embarrassed that this man, who was so strong and wouldn't know what a phobia was if it moved into his spare room and ate all his cereal, knew she could be thrown off her game by something so trivial as flying.

"Well it was fairly obvious, Jen," Gibbs pointed out, and Jenny sighed. "You know the best thing about private jets?" Gibbs asked her, as she looked out of the window and bit her lip. Still on the ground.

"No lines?" Jen smiled. Getting through security at an airport had always been tricky, laden down with guns as they were, and doing it without drawing attention to themselves was impossible. Fellow passengers tended to be slightly irritated by having to have all their belongings X-Rayed while a group of federal agents with a grumpy boss just waved their badges around and waltzed straight through security.

"That's great," Gibbs agreed. "But it's not the best."

"Baggage allowance?"

"No strict rules about alcohol consumption before take-off," Gibbs said, opening the fully-stocked minibar to their right and handing Jen a miniature vodka. "Cheers," he said, taking a sip of the coffee he'd brought on board.

"Thank you," Jen said, smiling faintly. She took a sip of the vodka, grimaced, then twisted the tiny gold lid closed.

She knew they had several long hours until they landed in Paris, and that one little drink wasn't going to render her unconscious or outrageously suggestive, or even a little bit giggly – she could hold her drink fine, only one wasn't going to affect her. Still, there was something about downing a bottle of alcohol before they even left the country that didn't sit right with her. It was just... irresponsible, really.

"Ready to go, Mister? Ma'am?" the pilot called from the cockpit. He'd obviously been told not to call Gibbs 'Sir' and Jenny was grateful for that. Getting shouted at by Gibbs could make him nervous, and he might crash the plane into the Atlantic. Or a mountain. Or he might just run straight off the runway and not even make it into the air.

"Ready!" Gibbs yelled back, and clipped his seatbelt on.

Jen did the same, fighting back a slight feeling of annoyance and neglect that Gibbs hadn't asked her before he gave the okay. By the time she'd settled her nerves and prepared herself there would be no point going at all, she supposed, but still. It would be nice if Gibbs would have _asked_.

The plane rolled forwards, engines whirring and wings shaking, and began to pick up speed. Faster and faster and faster, and then she felt the pressure pushing her against her seat as the nose lifted, and the wings tilted. Deciding that she didn't give a damn if she landed in Paris a drunken heap, Jenny unscrewed the tiny bottle of vodka with fumbling fingers and swallowed the clear liquid inside in about three gulps.

"You're meant to sip it. Slowly," Gibbs pointed out, as Jen gagged at the burning in her throat.

Jenny glared at him, discarding the empty vodka bottle and checking her watch. Four thirty am. That made it, what, two and a half hours since Gibbs had gotten that phone call? It wasn't quick enough for Gibbs, of course, but it was pretty remarkable. Morrow was still as organised as he'd always been. Understanding, too, considering he'd been dragged out of bed at two in the morning so Jen could speak to him. Especially when all she could tell him was that Gibbs wanted to see him, and that he wanted to go to Paris and take her with him.

Why did Gibbs want to go to Paris? Don't know. What was so urgent that it couldn't wait until a reasonable hour? Don't know. Supposing they did go to Paris, what would they do? Don't know. Why her and not an agent who knew the case? Don't know. And so on and so forth, until Morrow had given up asking questions and just agreed to go into work and talk.

So they had. Jen had showered in Gibbs' bathroom – not the first time she'd done it, but the first time in long enough to make her hurry up and get it over with – and dressed in a clean suit, and Gibbs had packed a suitcase (rather, he'd thrown some clothes at a suitcase and Jen had sent him to make coffee and then packed for him), and they'd driven to NCIS. It was dark and it was empty apart from one frustrated-looking-team and Ducky, who nodded gravely at Gibbs as they passed, and they'd walked straight into the Director's office and demanded to go to Europe. Rather, Gibbs demanded; Jen said things like 'hello' and 'Sir' and 'please'.

Jenny had learnt as much as she could from the conversation in the Director's office, but filling in the blanks for her was not a priority, so she reached for the file she'd been handed as Morrow saw them onto the plane, and flipped it open. She'd never gone undercover with such little preparation as this. She knew about the case from Gibbs, but most of his explanations had been up-to-date references as they lay in bed and reminisced. It wasn't as if she'd have to _do_ anything – the plan was to go straight to the hospital, make sure everything was alright, hang around for a week or two pretending to be Kate's concerned family, make sure everything was alright, and then leave – but she knew nothing about the case and a bit of background could only be helpful. Tony and Kate, Gibbs had told her, had undergone intensive preparation for this, learning the culture and the history of the people they were pretending to be until it was firmly installed in their brains what they should and shouldn't do. Gibbs, being their team leader, had absorbed most of that information as well, either from the meetings they'd all attended or the constant string of facts his team had spewed out as they prepared, like teenagers studying for an important exam. Jen, however, had none of that information. Nor did she have the privilege Gibbs had, of knowing the people he was going to be with. If they were going to pretend to be family members of Kate's, it would help their cover somewhat if they actually knew her. Gibbs had worked with her for years, and even if they weren't bestest buddies outside of the office, he was observant. He would be able to take the information he did have – her choice of clothing, what she ate – and use it to work out what colours she liked and what food she enjoyed.

Jenny couldn't tell you whether she was blonde or brunette.

She hoped, for some inexplicable reason, that she wasn't a redhead.

Deciding that it was more important to know the people she was supposed to know than the case – after all, Stefan wasn't going to be expecting her to know much about him – Jen picked up the other two files.

"They won't be very helpful," Gibbs remarked, sipping his coffee and watching Jen gaze at the files before her. "By all means read them, but don't expect to get to know them from their files."

Files, Gibbs had always suspected, were a remarkable waste of time. Sure, for potential employers they could be a source of great use. But he'd employed Kate when all he knew about her career was that she was smart enough to protect the President and dumb enough to risk that by sleeping with a colleague, and that she was tough enough to stand up to him and soft enough to cry on his shoulder. He'd employed Tony, even though his résumé showed he had a tendency to get itchy feet before two years was up and he'd drooled at the receptionist when he turned up for his interview. 'What will be the hardest thing about changing to a Federal Agency instead of a local police force?' had been one of the (stupidest) questions Gibbs had been required to ask Tony. His reply? 'The girls downstairs won't be in uniform.'

Gibbs chuckled to himself as he remembered DiNozzo's interview. He'd changed a lot, in some ways – he had a new maturity now, and a faith in himself that he'd not had before. He followed orders better, too (though not all of them) and he had managed to stay put in the agency for longer than his standard two years. Of course, there were some things that hadn't changed a bit – such as his penchant for all things female – but Gibbs could put up with that. Except sometimes, when he looked a little too interested in the file Kate was holding and Gibbs realised he was looking down her shirt.

Gibbs supposed he'd be looking down her shirt a whole lot more now, and he wouldn't be able to pull him up on it.

The file wouldn't say anything like that. 'Interests: Pissing of my colleagues'. Yeah, right. Tony's file would show you a picture taken four years ago, the same one that adorned his NCIS ID. It would tell you when he was born, where, and to whom. It would tell you that he had worked in Philadelphia, in Balitmore – it even went as far back as to tell you he worked in Macdonalds for three weeks when he was nineteen – and you might be able to surmise from the dates that NCIS was his favourite. You would see that in his time with NCIS he'd made one hundred and sixteen arrests, that he had killed ten people, and that he'd been recommended for counselling on three occasions, turned up zero times, and never been suspended, officially reprimanded, or otherwise punished. Since he joined Gibbs' team, the file said, Tony had amassed three sprained ankles, one broken thumb, two knife wounds, one gunshot wound, one case of dehydration, four blows to the head (four that required treatment, anyway, Gibbs supposed) and the plague.

Kate's would say much the same. Her photo would be newer, but it was taken by the same man with the same camera in the same room with the same plain white background and the same government stamp over it guaranteeing that the official, un-smiling, un-blinking, un-anything-other-than-staring-at-the-camera-and-holding-still agent in the picture matched the name at the top of the page. Her glittering Secret Service record would be in there, proving to anyone who dared question it that yes, in fact, she _was_ just as good as any man, and a whole lot better than most. Thirty-two arrests, four dead at her hands, and – like Tony – three counselling recommendations above and beyond the annual psych analysis. Like Tony, she'd never gone.

But, Gibbs thought, what good were they? Really? Anyone who wasn't there would believe Kate left the Secret Service because she was... what? Crazy? Sick of the travelling? Besotted with the man who offered her the job? All reasons someone else might make the choice Kate did. Likewise, why did Tony leave his old jobs after such a relatively short time? He certainly was doing fine at all of them (excluding, perhaps, Macdonalds, where it appeared he had been fired for making sexual puns to every female he served). The file wouldn't say anything other than 'resigned'. The odd detail, the odd reference from an old boss to show nothing bad went down to make him leave.

The yellow folders in Jenny's lap, stamped with a governmental seal of approval and decorated with the NCIS logo, would not tell her that Tony had a grin like a cat who'd just been fed, and it was rarely missing for more than a few minutes. Nor that it normally appeared as the result of an inappropriate thought or joke. Jenny would never know from the folder that when Kate got angry, her fists clenched and her eyes narrowed and went two shades darker, and she had a glare that would melt any living thing stupid enough to attract her attention. The most important things about Gibbs' agents, as far as he was concerned, could never be put down on paper. Tony, for example, had once told Abby that he wanted a son. Not as an heir, not as a boy to play ball with, but because he thought 'Pythagoras DiNozzo' was too cool a name not to be given to someone.

Gibbs believed that spoke strongly about Tony's state of mind.

Jenny opened the top folder. Tony's. His picture was, of course, the standard, staring straight ahead, government-approved ID. She scanned her eyes down the page to see if anything popped out at her.

"He had plague?" she asked, shocked, raising her eyebrows and looking at Gibbs.

"Woman with a brain tumour," Gibbs explained, taking another sip of coffee and watching DC disappear beneath them. "Sent an envelope of Y Pestis to the office."

"Charming," Jen muttered. "Was he alright?"

"In the end."

Jenny shuddered, and carried on reading. She read the folder from cardboard cover to cardboard cover, absorbing every detail she could, and then reading it again. When she was sure she'd committed it to memory, she closed it with a sigh and glanced at the other folder. Kate's. Jen knew it was irrational, but she was far more comfortable reading the achievements of Gibbs' male protégée than she was his female one. She didn't really want to pick up the file of the woman Gibbs had so much praise for and get to know her.

Irrational it may be, and entirely unfounded, but in all honesty Jen wasn't sure she liked her very much. Even if she was in the hospital (which, Jenny suspected, made her not quite as nice a person as she liked to think she was, but she couldn't help it).

With a soft sigh that made Gibbs look at her with a slightly baffled frown, Jenny opened the file. She scanned her eyes down to the picture, paper-clipped onto the front page. On the one hand, at least she wasn't a redhead. On the other, she was definitely attractive. She was also a lot younger than Jen herself was. And she pranced around under Gibbs' nose every single day.

"Pretty," Jen commented, trying to keep her tone light.

"Yep," Gibbs replied.

Jen frowned. He hadn't even had to stop and ask who she was talking about. Though she did have the file open on her lap, and she was hardly going to be talking about Tony, but still. He needn't have agreed so readily. In fact, he could have shaken his head and disagreed. 'Not my type' or 'I prefer redheads' would have been nice.

"She's, uh, she's a good agent," Jen said, looking at the list of recommendations that adorned Kate's file.

"Yes she is," Gibbs agreed, fixing Jenny with his blue-eyed stare.

"She's not married," Jen observed, lifting the picture out of the way and looking at the tiny printed box.

"No," Gibbs answered carefully.

Jenny nodded slightly, biting her lip and turning the page.

"Jen," Gibbs said, meeting her eyes and staring at her. "She's dating DiNozzo."

"She is?"

"She is."

"Oh. That's nice."

Jenny was quiet after that, reading the rest of Kate's file. Now that she was no longer a threat to her man – and Jen did class Gibbs as 'hers' and had for the last ten years, despite being on opposite sides of the country – Kate's folder seemed to show her in whole different light. A much more flattering, sympathetic light. In fact, Jen was actually impressed. Any woman with a career history like Kate's could clearly kick ass. Jen liked women who could kick ass – bimbos who wailed and flailed and waited for their hero to drop everything and save them made Jen want to kick their empty little heads in. Files weren't necessarily the best way to judge a person, but Jen was fairly sure that people who protected the President were not bimbos.

When she'd learnt as much as she felt she could from Tony and Kate's folders, Jenny picked up the case file and sighed. She was already sick of reading the tiny black writing that had been methodically tapped out across Gibbs' agent's files, she wasn't sure her eyes could take reading pages more. Steeling herself, Jen opened the file.

The pile of sleek, glossy pictures that rested on top of the first page, enlarged and zoomed-in courtesy of Abby and secured to the file with a huge paperclip, were a welcome respite from text.

"I thought they were Al Qaeda?" Jenny asked, examining the first picture and taking in Gerard's light hair and Stefan's pale skin.

"They are," Gibbs replied. "They're converted. They used to be Roman Catholics. Father and son converted to Islam ten years ago, wife converted when she married Gerard. We're not sure when they took up with terrorists, but we aim to find out."

"Quite a jump," Jen murmured. She moved on to the next photo, shifting the folder into the light so she could see more clearly. "Muslims don't drink," she observed, frowning at the picture of Stefan taking a mouthful of what looked like red wine.

"They don't kill, either," Gibbs pointed out. "I don't think Al Qaeda are required to follow rules."

"That's hypocritical," Jenny said.

"They're terrorists, Jen, and you're worried about hypocrisy?"

He had a point.

The rest of the file was much the same – evidence of Stefan and Gerard indulging in the very behaviour that they killed other people for. It didn't take long for Jenny to finish reading it, and when she stacked the three folders neatly on the table between her and Gibbs, Gibbs smiled.

"What?" she asked, sitting back in her chair and regarding Gibbs suspiciously.

"Nothing," he said innocently.

"Jethro..."

"Just reminiscing, that's all."

"On Paris?"

"Among other things."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "You're disgusting," she muttered.

"Only with you, Jen."

Jenny threw the cushion by her feet at Gibbs' head, narrowly missing hitting him square in the face and instead bouncing the pillow off his shoulder.

"Just like old times," Gibbs chuckled.

"Well," Jenny pointed out. "Not _just_ like old times."

"You know the second best thing about private jets?" Gibbs smirked.

"No..."

Gibbs leaned forwards, beckoning Jenny to lean in as well, so their heads were almost touching and there was an air of secrecy about them. "Bathrooms aren't so cramped," his whispered.

"Well, then," Jenny replied, slipping her jacket off and draping it over the back of the seat before standing up and turning towards the bathroom at the back of the plane. "What are we waiting for?"


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen... hope you like it!

* * *

Tony swallowed and glanced at his watch. Two hours, the doctor had said as they finally took Kate away and into the operating theatre, when Tony had demanded to know every little detail about Kate's operation – How long would it take? What were they going to do to her? Would she have a scar? – and now it had been two hours and six minutes. Lying bastard. Tony didn't trust that man. When they'd gotten to the hospital, he'd appeared almost immediately, smiling at her in his stupid, smarmy, 'look-at-me-I'm-a-doctor-and-I'm-from-Paris' way. It was all Tony could do not to interrupt his patronising little comments and flirty little smirks (like he couldn't _see_ Tony standing there) with 'well my country's bigger than your country, and I carry a gun, so watch it'. And the surgeon! He barely looked old enough to have his training wheels taken off his bicycle, let alone play Operation with Kate. He'd probably killed her by now.

The waiting room was orange. Like the bullpen. Maybe it was supposed to cheer people up? Tony didn't know. Maybe the decorator was just blind. Either way, it made him want to go out and buy a few tins of paint – white, maybe, or perhaps fluorescent pink, just for a change – and re-paint the whole damn thing. He could have finished, in the time they were taking to bring Kate out of theatre. Well, maybe not, but it certainly felt like it.

At two hours and eleven minutes, Tony allowed himself to cross the line between 'irrationally, though justifiably, nervous' to 'officially worried'.

There were chairs, lined up in rows. Horrible black metal frames, with bright blue cushioned backs and seats, and no arms. Far too uncomfortable for Tony to contemplate sitting on for any amount of time. Besides – sitting down stopped him pacing. The clock on the wall ticked loudly and was one of those cheap, plastic, white ones that seemed to hang everywhere where time was, as Ducky seemed so fond of saying when he was in a hurry, 'of the essence'. School exam rooms, where you desperately wanted the seconds to slow down so you could just finish your final paragraph, for example. Or work, when you wanted to get out of the building twenty minutes ago, but had to wait until five on the dot otherwise your boss would shoot you before you reached the elevator.

Hospital waiting rooms, where every second that ticked by showed one second longer than things were supposed to be taking.

Two hours and twelve minutes.

Tony sat down in one of the horrible blue chairs and looked around. He wasn't the only one in the room. There was a lady with red eyes and a little boy, who had been here before Tony arrived and showed no signs of expecting to leave soon. The little boy had been playing with a plastic truck for a while, ramming it into the chair legs and his mother's feet, until he got bored and started pretending to be an aeroplane. He was trying to climb up the vending machine, now. He had a couple of coins in his hand, but he couldn't reach the slot. The woman didn't seem to notice, even when he smacked his palm against the glass and clamoured for M&Ms, leaving smudgy handprints and pouting. He'd been doing that for the last ten minutes, Tony realised. A lifetime, for a three-year-old. In a moment of sympathy and an attempt to earn some good karma for Kate, Tony went over and took the coins, pushing them into the slot and pressing '6A' so the chocolate fell down. Bending down to rescue the candy from inside the machine, Tony passed the chocolate to the small boy and then used his sleeve to surreptitiously wipe the handprints he'd left on the glass window. The boy grinned shyly at him, before turning and scampering into the corner to lick the sugary shells off his M&Ms.

Two hours, thirteen and a half minutes.

Tony gazed at the coffee machine beside the vending machine. He didn't want coffee – he wasn't sure he'd be able to swallow. Besides, hospital coffee was always disgusting. Even when he poured sachets of sugar into it and selected the 'add milk' option on the machine, it always finished up black and bitter enough to make Gibbs proud. Not that Gibbs would ever drink hospital coffee, of course.

Not having any real intention of drinking it, but desperate for something to do instead of watch the clock, Tony slid a euro into the machine and pushed the 'white coffee' button. The polystyrene cup was too hot to touch, so Tony tugged down the sleeve of the sweater he'd grabbed while waiting for the ambulance and wrapped it protectively around his fingers in a kind of mock-insulation, before taking the coffee from under the spout. Thirty-second coffee. Nice. And it was black. Tony took a handful of sugar sachets from the basket to the side of the machine and ripped the tops of them all, pouring them into his cup on after the other before lifting the cup to his lips and taking a sip. It was just as bad as he'd expected coffee that cost one euro to be. Putting a plastic lid with no hole to drink through (smart, that) on top of the cup and returning to his seat, Tony glanced at the clock.

Two hours and fifteen minutes.

That was fifteen minutes longer than they said they were going to be. A quarter of an hour. Nine hundred seconds. Nine _thousand_ milliseconds. In fifteen minutes, you could clean your teeth seven-and-a-half times (more than that, if you didn't follow the dentist's rule of brushing for two whole minutes). You could sit through any of the four quarters of an NFL game, or the extra time afterwards. You could, if you were so inclined, be disgusting in the back of a van. Or, if you were really skilled (or really hungry) you could cook nine strawberry-flavoured Pop Tarts in a toaster. Eighteen, if your toaster had four slats instead of just two.

You could also, Tony was fairly sure, die from loss of blood on an operating table while some incompetent French surgeon messed up your appendectomy and no-one bothered to tell your boyfriend. Or you could have an 'adverse reaction' (that was the phrase they used, right?) to the anaesthetic. Or wake up while you were still being sewn together, unable to move or talk but able to feel everything, like those horror stories that sometimes came on the news. Or you could –

Before Tony could scare himself anymore, Kate's doctor appeared in the doorway with a clipboard and a smile.

"Monsieur?" he called, approaching him. (_'Go ahead', _Tony thought, _'You talk to me in French. Like you don't know I'm American...'_)

Tony clenched his fists. If that... _man_... told him anything other than 'Kate's fine', he was going to throttle him. Forget the law, forget traumatising the kid in the corner, forget everything. He was holding this guy personally responsible for Kate's wellbeing, in an attempt to ignore the fact that if he himself had ignored Kate's protests and just taken her to a damn doctor straight after dinner yesterday, a whole lot of pain could have been avoided. And so far, he wasn't very impressed.

"If you'd like to come with me, Monsieur, I'll take you to see Miss Todd." _('That's it,' _Tony thought sarcastically, mentally throwing knives at this horrible little man with a pretentious accent and a ridiculous little goatee that made him look like Satan, who flirted with his girlfriend while she was suffering from appendictitis and told lies about how long Tony would be in the waiting room for, _'Speak English now. Multi-lingual show-off.'_)

He would have liked to threaten him, as Dr. Sleazeball (Tony couldn't remember his real name, but this one suited him better) led him down the hall and into an elevator. He would have liked to tell him that if Kate was in the slightest bit of pain because of what his pathetic little kindergartener-in-scrubs had done to her, Tony was going to remove _his_ appendix. Without an anaesthetic. And he was going to use a butter knife. What Tony would have _liked_ to do, as the silver elevator doors slid closed and Dr. Sleazeball pushed the button to take them to the fifth floor, smug and self-satisfied and looking at Tony with that little 'I know where your girlfriend is and you don't so ha, ha, HA' look in his eye, was punch him in the face and break that obviously-surgically-edited nose into little bits. But, Sleazy-Gonzalez was right. Tony didn't know where Kate was, and he could spend days roaming the halls and looking for her.

Maybe he'd let him live for now.

"She's still asleep," Dr. Sleazeball said, opening a yellow door with a small window at the top and stepping back to let Tony through first. "She should wake up soon. A nurse will be with you shortly to check on things. When she does wake up, she'll be very groggy. It's best to let her rest. I'll be back in about an hour."

Of course he would. When Kate would be awake, and not half-delirious with pain and fever. Then he'd flash her his creepy little French smile and talk to her with that creepy little French accent, and put his creepy little French hands where he didn't really need to. He probably wasn't even a real doctor. He was probably just some creepy little French pervert that came in off the street and stole a white coat and stethoscope. _Real_ doctors didn't look him. _Real_ doctors had glasses and crooked noses and cold hands and scary smiles that danced across their sadistic faces while they picked up sharp objects and said 'this won't hurt a bit...' Doctors only looked like Dr. Sleazeball did when their hospital was a sound stage in Hollywood and a dinky theme tune accompanied every over-dramatised life-saving feat of genius. Creepy little Frenchman.

Glaring at the retreating back of Dr. Sleazeball as he walked down the hall and turned the corner, Tony stepped into the hospital room and swallowed. It wasn't too bad, actually. The bed, made of white metal like the cheap bunkbeds Tony had slept in when he went to Cub Camp, was pretty much central, the backrest against the wall with a chair to the right and a small table to the left. A pouch of clear liquid and a blood transfusion that made Tony feel sick hung up above Kate's head, dripping into her through the IV in her wrist, and up on the wall opposite Kate there was a small TV. Not exactly homey, but it seemed comfortable enough, and it was clean and it was private and Kate didn't look she was in pain anymore so he really couldn't complain.

Tony sat in the chair, dragging it as close to the bed as he could get it without crushing his legs. He took Kate's hand in his, being careful not to dislodge the needle in her wrist or the tubes that ran down her arm and finished up taped to the back of her hand, and pressed his other hand to Kate's forehead and sighed with relief, dropping his head onto the bed and grinning. She was cool and soft and her hair was dry, not sticking to her skin in wet strands like it had done earlier. She wasn't shivering, either. Her fever was gone. Fevers scared Tony – he'd seen a movie once, where a little girl with meningitis died because her fever got too high. Granted, Kate wasn't six years old, nor did she have meningitis, nor were they a hundred miles away from anywhere with a medical centre. And it wasn't the 1920s. But still. People could die from fevers.

Kate's eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked, dazed, her eyes darting around for a second or two until she met Tony's gaze.

"Hey," he whispered, as she shifted in the bed and smiled. It was faint and it was bleary, and she was obviously a little disorientated, but it was still a smile and she looked so much better than she had last time Tony saw her that he didn't care.

"Hey," Kate croaked, her voice hoarse but pain-free. "Am I in the hospital?"

"No," Tony teased. "Morrow decided we were having too much fun and downsized our apartment." Kate smiled again and Tony grinned. It was good to see her smiling when it wasn't forced through pain and tears in a vain attempt to convince him she was okay. "How are you doing?" he asked, still holding onto her hand. "And," he added, as Kate opened her mouth, "don't say 'fine', because last time you told me that you were lying, and look where that got us."

"I'm a little thirsty," Kate admitted. "And a little sore." She grinned. "But I'm fine."

The door opened, and a nurse appeared with a jug of water in her hand and a glass. She set it on the table, before smiling at Kate and straightening the sheets over her legs. Tony wanted to glare at her, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything other than smile.

The nurse fussed over Kate, talking to her and asking her questions and making sure she was comfortable while she took her temperature and blood pressure, checking all her vital signs and pouring her a glass of water. Tony managed to stop smiling for long enough to glower at her when she pressed her stethoscope against Kate's chest and made her flinch from the cold, and stared at her especially hatefully when she drew blood from the crook of Kate's arm.

"Excuse me," the nurse smiled, squeezing her way between Tony and the bed.

Tony scowled, making a face at the woman's back as she pulled the covers gently away from Kate's waist, and stood right behind her with his arms folded. Kate bit her lip to stop herself laughing at him as he peered over the nurses' shoulder, hastily pulling back and grinning at her as she turned. The nurse carefully peeled back the bandage on the side of Kate's abdomen, and Tony wrinkled his nose.

"Eugh!" he spluttered, eyeing the bruising around Kate's stitches. "Gross!"

"What?" Kate asked nervously, staring down at her waist.

"Do you mind?" the nurse demanded, replacing the bandage and turning to face Tony.

"Not really," he replied, giving her his most charming smile.

She glowered at him, turning back to Kate and smiling sweetly. "Try to get some rest," she instructed, covering her over again with the blankets and lowering the bed slightly. "If you're in pain, just click this and some medication will go through your IV. You can have some water if you're thirsty, but try not to drink too much if you can avoid it." She gave Tony a pointed look, and he nodded seriously at her. "Don't rip your stitches," she said sternly, and Tony did his best to look shocked and innocent. The nurses voice softened again as she turned back to Kate and smiled. "You can move around in the bed, but don't get up. The doctor will be in shortly, and you can maybe get out of bed then. For now, try to get some sleep," her gaze returned to Tony and turned strict again, "if it's _possible_."

Kate nodded, trying to keep a straight face while Tony blinked back at the nurse with a slightly offended look on his face.

"Just push this button if you need anything," the nurse said, smiling at Kate before heading for the door with the blood vial in hand and one final glare thrown over her shoulder at Tony.

"Thank you," Tony called cheerfully after her. "Bye-bye now. And you be careful out there – we wouldn't you catching any nasty diseases, now, would we?"

The nurse gave him a filthy look and closed the door.

"I don't think she likes me," Tony commented, and Kate grinned.

"She's just doing her job, Tony," Kate scolded.

"So am I," Tony pointed out, dropping a kiss on Kate's forehead.

Kate smiled, yawning widely and using the hand that wasn't joined to the IV to reach up and push her fringe from her eyes.

"I hate to admit it," Tony said, a more serious demeanour settling in as he wrapped his fingers around Kate's immobilised hand and used his other hand to stroke her head gently, "but she is right. You should go to sleep. Did you get any rest at all last night?"

"Did you?" Kate retorted, not willing to tell Tony just how many times she'd woken up from the pain.

"I'm not the one who's sick," Tony pointed out, flicking Kate's nose.

"If I go to sleep," Kate murmured, the slight slur of her voice making it obvious that she wasn't going to be able to stay awake for much longer whether Tony agreed to her conditions or not, "do you promise you will, too?"

"I promise," Tony said, and Kate nodded, shifting slightly under the covers and closing her eyes. He didn't actually intend to go to sleep, but he was tired so he rested his chin on the mattress beside Kate and picked fluff off the blanket that covered her legs until he heard her breathing deepen and soften with sleep.

The next thing he knew, it was dark and quiet and there was a sharp knock on the door. He jerked upright, checking the clock and realising with some horror that it was almost nine o' clock in the evening and he had, in fact, slept. Fortunately, Kate still appeared to be fast asleep.

"I told you," a voice Tony didn't recognise floated through the door. "We should have just asked the nurse how to get there. This isn't the right room."

Tony got up, glancing ruefully at the door and straightening his appearance ready to go and shout at whoever was out there for waking Kate (not that she was awake, but he was, and she could have been woken) when another voice, a voice Tony did recognise, that was deeper and gruffer and equally as irritated, replied,

"Marines do not need directions, Jen, just open it and see."

Tony frowned, pulling the door open just as a redheaded woman stepped forwards.

"Gibbs?" Tony asked, frowning as his suspicions were confirmed and he saw his boss standing outside the hospital room.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs replied, nodding his head in greeting and pushing past him and the redhead.

"Who's the lovely lady, Boss?" Tony asked, grinning at Jenny.

"None of your business," Gibbs growled, going to the bed and standing beside Kate, folding his arms.

"Jenny," Jen said, rolling her eyes at Gibbs' back and offering Tony her hand. "Jenny Shepard."

Tony smirked. He took Jenny's hand, shaking it happily. "I've heard a lot about you," he said, eyeing her up and down appreciatively and glancing at Gibbs.

"Have you, indeed," Jenny muttered, also turning to Gibbs and raising an eyebrow.

"No," Gibbs replied, taking Tony's seat and gazing at Kate.

"He hasn't had any coffee since we left DC," Jen whispered to Tony, and Tony grinned. He had a feeling he and Jenny Shepard were going to get on very well together.

Tony stared pointedly at Gibbs', sitting in the only chair in the room, but was ignored. He made his way to Kate's other side, leaning against the wall a little way away from her and watching her sleep.

"I, uh, didn't expect you to actually turn up, Gibbs," Tony said.

"Really? I seem to remember being dragged out of bed with a hysterical phone call because Kate collapsed. If I remember correctly, 'Gibbs come and help me, I'll do anything' was the exact phrase you used. Unless that was another DiNozzo?"

"Well, no, that was me... Did I drag you out of bed too, Miss Shepard?" Tony, always adept at changing the subject, grinned across the room at Jen.

"It was two o' clock in the morning, Tony," she pointed out, smiling indulgently at him. She'd only been in his company for a matter of moments, but she liked him already. He reminded her of Gibbs, when he was young. There was something about him that, even while he was clearly digging for information, filled her with affection, in much the same way as one might 'aww, bless' over a puppy as he nibbled a pair of slippers.

"Ah, so it was... so whose bed did I drag you from? It wouldn't by any chance be our gallant leader's over here, would it?"

Gibbs glared at Tony and he cringed. "You're right, Boss. None of my business. Sorry, Ma'am. I didn't mean to insult you. I'm sure you could do a lot better than -" Tony yelped as Gibbs' palm struck the back of his head, and Jen chuckled.

"Ah, Mademoiselle. We've woken up, I see."

Tony scowled, glaring at Dr. Sleazeball as he walked – no, not walked, _strolled_, with that smug, arrogant little strut of his – into the room. "You were meant to come back hours ago," he snapped. He wasn't sure exactly how many hours it had been, he'd been too distracted, but he knew for sure that he'd said 'an hour'. And now it was ten o' clock in the evening. That was definitely not an hour.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, and Jenny watched with interest.

"Mademoiselle was asleep," the doctor purred, shooing Tony away from the bed, where he was squished on beside Kate, and pressing his hand against her forehead. "You're certainly looking better than when I last saw you," he smiled, and Tony made retching noises behind his back.

Gibbs pricked his ears. Why was Tony clearly so anti-doctor all of a sudden? The fuss he'd made on the phone, begging for Gibbs to come along and save the day so he didn't mess up, Gibbs would have expected him to be sickeningly grateful to the man who had made Kate better. She was certainly alright now, sitting up in bed and getting to know Jenny while Tony fussed over her. She kept telling Tony she was fine when he asked her how she was feeling, and she'd drunk a glass of water and even giggled occasionally. That, Gibbs had to admit, was off-putting. Kate did not giggle. Kate laughed, sure. But she didn't... _giggle_. Especially at Tony.

Gibbs had been told by Tony how bad a state Kate had been in when he called the ambulance, and he had to admit he'd been worried. But she'd been awake for forty-five minutes now, and he'd left the room to use the bathroom and come back to find Tony squeezed onto the bed, kissing Kate desperately while Jenny hung around awkwardly and averted her eyes. Clearly, Kate was much better. So really, Gibbs didn't quite see why Tony was so hostile to the doctor.

"So, Mademoiselle," the doctor smiled, "I trust you're feeling better?"

"Why are you still here?" Tony muttered, frowning as the doctor smiled at Kate again. "In _America_, doctors have _shifts_. It's far more civilised."

"I stayed late," came the reply. "I wanted to make sure Mademoiselle was alright. She is, after all, my favourite and most beautiful patient." Kate smiled, blushing slightly and ducking her head.

"Her _name_," Tony muttered, scowling like a little boy denied ice-cream before dinner, "is Kate. Not _Mademoiselle_."

The doctor checked Kate's chart, adjusting something on the machine beside her and smiling. "Well, Kate, all seems well. It must be my magic touch, yes? I'll be back in the morning -"

"Oh," Tony said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "How wonderful."

The doctor ignored him. "I'll bring you something to eat," he smiled. "Then you may probably go home in the afternoon."

"Thank you," Kate smiled.

"You are more than welcome, my dear. Goodnight. There are nurses on duty, of course, but if there's a problem ask one of them to page me and I will come directly."

"Bye," Tony said, interrupting Kate as she opened her mouth to thank him.

The doctor turned, pausing in the doorway and smiling at Jenny. "And you, Mademoiselle, are also very beautiful." Then he left, his white coat billowing behind him.

Gibbs scowled, glaring at the doorway where he'd just been standing. "And what's his name?" he growled.

"Dr. Sleazeball," Tony supplied.

Kate tutted. "I like him," she said.

"I don't," Gibbs muttered.

"I do too," Jenny agreed. "He's... charming."

Kate nodded. "And kinda handsome, too."

"Yeah."

Gibbs snorted.

"He was... was... _taunting_ me!" Tony spluttered. "Ah, Mademoiselle, you are soooo beautiful... Mademoiselle, I loooove you... I love myself, Mademoiselle, for I am a god... Bow down to my magic touch and my miraculous doctors hands. Bask in my fantasticness. Feel my splendour seep into you from afar..."

"Oh, shut up, DiNozzo," Kate muttered, elbowing Tony in the stomach.

Tony glared at her, raising his elbow to return the dig, but was stopped by Gibbs. "Don't even think about it, DiNozzo," he growled. "She's just had her appendix out."

"Oh yeah," Tony said. "Sorry. But really. That man is so... gushing."

"You wouldn't be jealous, would you, Tony?" Jenny asked.

Tony laughed, trailing off as he realised how forced it sounded. "No!" he protested, as Kate grinned at him. "No!"

"You are," Kate teased. "Why else would you hate him so much?"

"Because I have sense!" Tony pointed out. "Right, Boss?"

"Right," Gibbs agreed.

"You jealous too, Jethro?" Jenny asked.

"I'm going to get some coffee," Gibbs growled, getting to his feet.

"I'll come too," Jenny said, following him out of the room.

Gibbs wasn't sure whether she was following him because she wanted coffee or if she just didn't want to be stuck in the room when Kate and Tony started going at it again. Either way, he wasn't sure it was a good idea to leave them alone. Last time he'd returned, they'd thrown any sense of decorum out the window and were barely clinging to decency by the skin of their teeth – and that was in front of a total stranger. God knows what they'd be like when there was nobody in the room. Gibbs would probably return to find... something he wasn't entirely comfortable thinking about. Still, he couldn't very well just change his mind and stay put, could he? And telling Jen she wasn't coming with him was a sure-fire way to get her to tail him for the rest of the day. If she was feeling particularly compliant she might just do as he asked, but she'd want to know why. 'Babysitting' wouldn't exactly cut it. So, Gibbs made his way down the hall with Jen by his side and just tried to ignore her, leaving Kate and Tony alone.

"_Jethro_?" Kate asked Tony incredulously, as soon as the door closed behind their two new companions. "Did she actually just call him _Jethro_?"

Tony shrugged. "They used to date," he said, as if that would explain. He knew he wasn't supposed to tell anyone that, Gibbs had sworn him to secrecy, but Kate wouldn't tell. And Tony really, _really_ liked getting one up on Kate. Producing information that she didn't know about was a favourite past time of his, and his main incentive on the occasions he actually did any work.

"I know," Kate said, "but I mean... _Jethro_?"

"What's she supposed to call him? Gibbs? Boss? I mean – hang on, what do you mean you know? It's a secret!"

"It's obvious, Tony."

"It is?"

"Yes."

"Do you think there's something going on now? With Gibbs and Jenny, I mean."

"I don't know. How long are they going to be here for?"

"Um... a fortnight, Gibbs said, they're staying at the apartment with us..."

Kate groaned. "No, Tony," she protested. "I don't want to live with Gibbs!"

"I don't know," Tony shrugged. "Jenny's pretty hot. And if you're going to be out of action for a few weeks, you know..."

"Would you like me to poke your eye out with my IV?" Kate muttered.

"You can't get it out of your wrist," Tony pointed out, a smirk playing across his face.

"Fine. I'll strangle you with it, then."

"You can't. Dr. Sleazeball will come back – he'll be very upset if he finds out his precious time's been wasted."

Kate frowned. Tony had pissed about earlier on, with the nurse, and he'd complained about the doctor and made fun of him, but there was a bitterness in his tone when he made that last comment that made Kate pay attention. She was used to Tony winding people up, poking fun at them or teasing them. She wasn't used to him actually not _liking_ people. Suspects and criminals aside, of course, Tony generally treated people with respect. He was easy-going, and easy to get along with. At least, he was if you weren't the target of his pranks or annoying distractions. But he seemed to genuinely dislike this doctor.

"Why don't you like him?" Kate asked, snuggling closer to Tony and running her fingers through his scruffy hair.

"What? I like him!"

"You don't. You're being all... mean. He's a nice guy."

Tony shrugged, brushing Kate's hand away from him and getting off the bed. He slumped down in the chair on her other side, avoiding Kate's gaze.

"Tony -"

"Yes, he's wonderful," Tony snapped. "He's handsome and he's smart and he's a doctor, and his accent is sexy and he's – what was it? Charming? – he's charming. Fantastic." Tony glanced at Kate and immediately regretted it. She looked all hurt and sad. He hadn't meant to shout at her, but he couldn't help it. He was tired. He'd barely slept the night before, and though he'd slept for a long time today, it hadn't really done anything to relax him. His muscles ached from being hunched over the bed, his head hurt from the constant hum of hospital machinery, and having Gibbs and Jenny there was awkward. He appreciated Gibbs coming, and Jenny seemed nice, but he wanted to be alone with Kate and make sure she was alright. And to top it all off, that damn doctor kept appearing and drooling all over Kate. "Sorry," he muttered, turning away so he couldn't see Kate's face.

"You actually are jealous, aren't you?" Kate asked after a pause. "Tony?"

Tony sighed, turning back to Kate again. "No," he muttered. "Why would I be jealous of Dr. Sleazeball?"

"I don't know," Kate said, lying on her side so she was facing Tony and wincing as she realised she was still too sore to do that. "You are, though."

Tony sighed, turning a little red under Kate's accusing glare. "Fine," he muttered. Damn this woman and her telepathic ways. "I'm jealous, alright? But not for the reasons you think."

Kate grinned, a wide smile slowly spreading across her face, her eyes glittering and her little dimple appearing. God, that smile was sexy... But Tony was still feeling pretty wounded, so he fought back the desire to lean over and kiss Kate and instead just glared at her.

"What?" he scowled. "That makes you happy?"

"Every girl likes to feel special, Tony," Kate said, propping her head up on her hand in an effort to ease the discomfort in her right side. "It's nice."

"Look," Tony tutted, leaning forwards and pulling Kate's blankets straight, "you can't lie on your side like that, it's hurting you."

Kate turned onto her back, glad that Tony wasn't sulking anymore. "You know," she smiled, as Tony dragged his chair close to the bed again and held her hand, "it's actually kinda hot."

"Hot?"

"Yeah. You getting all manly and protective... At least, it would be if you didn't ruin it by being so petty and childish."

"Is that so? Well maybe after Dr. Sleazeball releases you from his evil clutches and your stitches come out, I could get manly and protective again. Someplace more private."

"Maybe you could," Kate agreed, and then some of the sparkle left her eyes and she looked serious again. "And maybe you could not yell at me next time."

"Yeah," Tony sighed, "I deserved that. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." There was a pause, while Tony stroked Kate's hand and she gazed up at the ceiling. "Tony?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you weren't jealous for the reasons I thought?"

"I said that? Really? You must be delirious. Maybe your fever's back."

Kate smiled, smacking Tony lightly on the back of the head. "Uh-uh," she teased, when he made to retaliate, "Hospitalised, remember?" Tony growled under his breath and Kate smirked. "So why _are_ you jealous?"

"You got me," Tony sighed. "Sorry, Kate. You're nice, and all, but... I really like Dr. Sleazeball."

"Oh, shut up," Kate scoffed, pushing Tony's shoulder and rolling her eyes. "Come on, Tony, why?"

Tony sighed, fiddling with the edge of Kate's blanket. Maybe she wasn't as telepathic as he'd thought. Couldn't she tell that he didn't want to have this conversation? He was quite content to sit on a sofa and make out. He didn't _like_ long, difficult, relationship-y conversations. Talking about feelings and stuff like that... it made him uncomfortable. Especially as he knew he was highly unlikely to say the right thing.

"Tony, it doesn't matter what you say," Kate whispered. "I don't want you to give me your interpretation of what you think I want to hear. I just want to know how come you're jealous, if it's not for the reasons I think."

Okay, so she _was_ telepathic. If only she'd make up her freakin' mind and stick with it!

"Don't laugh," Tony ordered, and Kate nodded her head. "It's just... do you remember when we got here? Just arrived, out of the ambulance?"

Kate shook her head. "No," she murmured. That part of the day had been a blur. She remembered talking to Ducky, then she remembered being given an anaesthetic, then she woke up in the hospital with Tony beside her. In between she didn't know what had happened, really. She just trusted that it had been nothing out of the ordinary (aside from the whole 'in the hospital' part, obviously) because Tony hadn't said anything. "Why?"

"You were crying," Tony sighed, "and I couldn't help you. I mean, I was there and all, but I wasn't much use. My grand contribution to make you feel better was an ibuprofen hours before and promising it would be alright. And then... _he_ came along, and he was all 'oooh, Mademoiselle, my darling, you're so brave' and he made you better. And I don't like other people doing things for you that I can't, and I don't like other men flirting with my girl." Tony clamped his mouth shut, eyes widening in horror as he realised what he'd just said. "Not that you're my girl," he said, trying to backtrack. "I, uh, meant girl_friend_. I know you're not my property or anything. You're not my girl, you're not anyone's, you're, um, your own..."

"Tony," Kate interrupted, "I think I would really like to be your girl."


	17. Chapter 17

Hi everyone. Once again, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! And sorry this chapter's taken a while. Hopefully the next one should be fairly quick, but I have exams rapidly approaching so I might have to focus on them for a couple of weeks.

Oh, and one person reviewed the last chapter in a PM, and also said something about what might happen in the series 5 finale. She was way apologetic and totally didn't mean to give anything away (which she didn't, really, it was just speculation) but I figured I should just say to everyone else that I haven't seen any of series 5 yet (it starts tonight) so if you could pretty please avoid mentioning anything from that series, especially the last couple of episodes, I would really appreciate it :)

* * *

"This reminds me of a movie," Tony announced.

"Rugrats in Paris?" Gibbs muttered, and Kate grinned.

"No," Tony replied. "It was -"

"That was an invitation to not tell us anymore," Gibbs growled, and Tony fell silent.

Kate sighed heavily, fidgeting as much as she comfortably could and flopping her head to the side. They'd been back at the apartment for three hours – Dr. Sleazeball had released her from the hospital at around three in the afternoon – and Kate was bored. And uncomfortable. Although the apartment was undeniably a more attractive prospect than the hospital, Kate's stitches were still sore and she couldn't do much more than she'd been doing there anyway. Namely, lie around. There had been the obligatory tour of the apartment for Jenny and Gibbs, which had taken all of ten minutes – and most of that was in the kitchen, showing them where the cups were kept and what drawer held the cutlery – and after that, they'd just sat around. Or rather, Tony, Gibbs and Jenny had sat around. Kate had lain around. Which was, she had to admit, half the problem. If she had her head at the other end of the sofa to where she was now, she couldn't see the others without tilting her neck awkwardly. But where she was lying now, if she turned onto her left side, she was facing the back of the sofa. Anti-social, to say the least. Turning on her right, however, was painful and against doctors orders. So, if she wanted to avoid turning her back to everyone in the room or causing herself unnecessary suffering, she had to lie on her back. Not a problem for short periods of time. But for three hours? It was bad enough having to lie around and do nothing in the middle of the day. Being stuck in one position just added to the irritation.

"Are you alright?" Tony asked, as Kate gave a frustrated little groan and kicked a cushion.

"I'm sick of being on my back," Kate muttered.

"You didn't have any complaints the other night," Tony grinned, and Kate yanked the pillow from behind her head and threw it at him. Hard.

"Hey," Gibbs frowned, as Tony made a face at Kate and she returned in kind. "Knock it off."

"He started it," Kate muttered, glaring at Tony.

"You're the one who threw the cushion," Tony pointed out.

"Only because you were being disgusting!"

"What did I just say?" Gibbs barked.

Kate and Tony fell silent, glaring at one another when they thought Gibbs wasn't looking. Kate reached over her head to the small table by the arm of the sofa, her hands finding the box of chocolates that Stefan had sent (delivered two hours ago by a skinny British delivery boy, who could have barely been nineteen and looked like he was going to snap under the weight of the packaging he was carrying) and bringing it to her lap. Kate flipped the lid open and made to offer the box to Jenny, but raised an eyebrow at what she saw. Last time she opened the box it was brimming with delicately wrapped chocolates, a mass of coloured foil balls nestled in a bed of shredded pink paper. Now, there was just a messy heap of screwed-up foil and some chocolatey smudges.

"DiNozzo!" Kate complained, taking a particularly large ball of foil that must be the combined leftovers of at least seven chocolates and flicking it at Tony's head. "Did you eat all these?"

"Rule Nine," Tony replied, catching the foil ball and tossing it back at Kate. "Always share your chocolate."

"That's not Rule Nine," Kate retorted, glaring at him. "Rule Nine is always-"

"Carry a knife," Jenny agreed, and Kate smiled at her.

"Rule Fifty-One," Gibbs growled, eyeing Kate and Jenny with a somewhat disturbed look on his face. "Don't finish each other's sentences."

"Anyway," Tony shrugged, getting to his feet and digging around in the package on the coffee table. "I'm not talking about Gibbs' Rules." With a satisfied smile, Tony retrieved what he was looking for – a neatly-arranged box of two dozen cupcakes, each the size of his fist, coated with thick, sugary icing in pastel pinks and lilacs and yellows, and decorated lavishly with sprinkles – and tugged the ribbon off. "I'm talking about Tony's Rules."

"Will you stop brutalising that wrapping?" Kate moaned, trying to kick Tony from her position on the sofa. "It's pretty, you're ruining it. And get your filthy hands out of my get-well present."

"Thought you didn't like get-well presents from terrorists?" Tony replied, spraying crumbs at Kate as he tried to answer around a mouthful of cupcake.

Kate made a face at him. Sure, when the basket – if it could be called a basket, when it was that size – arrived on the doorstep 'with best wishes from Stefan', hiding the poor delivery boy behind mounds of bows and ribbons and balloons, Kate hadn't been very impressed. Until Tony had dived into it with delight, having been given the go-ahead by Kate, and produced box upon box of chocolates and biscuits and cakes. That had cheered her up a little. Cake was cake, after all.

"I don't," Kate said. "But I do like cupcakes. And they belong to me, not you, so stop poking them!"

Shoving the remains of his cupcake into his mouth and snatching another one before Kate could object, Tony carefully replaced the box and moved away from the package.

"You're a pig," Kate declared, managing a look of disgust as Tony licked a sticky trail around the edges of the icing on his second cupcake, leaving a gooey, sludgy line of spit and sugar. "I'm going to have a shower."

Tony leapt to his feet, almost dropping his cupcake in his haste and fumbling to catch it, leaving a pink smear of icing on his shirt and crumbs stuck to his fingers. "Rule One!" he exclaimed in delight, as Kate stood up gingerly and stared at him like he was out of his mind. "Never get naked alone!"

"Gibbs," Kate pleaded, turning to her boss and staring at him desperately.

"What do you want me to do, Kate?" Gibbs asked. "Have him neutered?" But even so, he took DiNozzo into the kitchen and ordered him to pass ingredients from the unfamiliar cupboards so he could make spaghetti bolognaise and Kate could shower in peace.

Dinner was... different. Kate, having had no real-life, non-brainwashed female company for the past few weeks, laid her claim to Jenny and the two women spent most of the meal waving their hands around and talking animatedly to one another about God-knows-what while still somehow getting their food in their mouths and not flicking tomato sauce across the table, pointedly ignoring Tony and Gibbs every time they tried to interrupt their bonding. Gibbs felt like he was in some kind of parallel universe. Watching Kate and Jenny talk to one another, he felt as he had back at the hospital and they'd picked their way through their first hesitant, curious, slightly-awkward (though undeniably friendly) conversation – as if he was presenting a girlfriend to his parents to be held up for inspection and judgment. Only he couldn't quite tell who was meant to be judging whom. It hadn't occurred to Gibbs to hope they'd get along, but now that they were, he almost wished they weren't. Not that he wanted them to hate one another – he'd seen his fair share of cat fights, and while DiNozzo would probably love to stand on the sidelines and sling mud at the two of them while they bitched at each other, Gibbs wasn't sure he could take living in an apartment with two women who couldn't stand the sight of one another. But he hadn't expected them to hit it off quite so well. Since the hospital, they'd been giggling together and whispering together like teenaged best friends.

Being blanked by the women meant that Gibbs and Tony had to rely on one another for company. Which wasn't too bad, Gibbs supposed – he was feeling the effects of his significant lack of sleep over the past couple of nights which, coupled with jet lag, had left him pretty wiped out. Too tired to really focus on a conversation with DiNozzo, at least. Besides, watching Tony light up as he described – in painful detail, Gibbs didn't fail to note – every single scene from some movie he'd seen far too many times was actually almost amusing. What was more amusing was watching him imitate Jen and Kate when they weren't looking, pushing up his imaginary breasts and sucking in his cheekbones before waving his hands around and grinning, or staring intently at Gibbs and nodding as if he were listening to something ever-so-important. It was uncanny, Gibbs thought, as he watched Kate nod solemnly at some snippet of womanly wisdom Jenny was passing on. Mind you, Kate and Jen managed to do it without getting food everywhere. Tony had just about ruined Gibbs' shirt with tomato sauce by the time he was through.

After dinner, the four of them sitting in the living room watching a French movie with English subtitles and enough bare flesh and heaving breath to make Kate turn bright red and throw awkward glances at Gibbs, Gibbs sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee. He wasn't sure he liked this very much. He wasn't sure what it was, maybe because the whole situation was more relaxed than he'd ever found himself in with these people before, but he didn't feel in control. He should – he had every right to be in control. He was, in fact, in charge. But at the same time, he wasn't. Everything about the situation was somewhat back to front and topsy turvy, and it made Gibbs uncomfortable. 'Boss' he may well be, but this was quite clearly Kate's domain. He could tell from the way Kate swatted at Tony's leg when he put his feet up on the coffee table, and tutted loudly and pushed a coaster at him when he put his cup of coffee down without one, that Kate ruled in this apartment. She probably didn't realise it – _Tony_ probably didn't realise it – but it was clear to Gibbs that what Kate said went. Gibbs was not used to being ruled by his own subordinates, and he wasn't sure it was an experience he was going to relish over the next fortnight.

Kate fidgeted uncomfortably. Whatever film this was, it certainly belonged in the 'classy porn' category. Straight-laced as she was, if it was just her and Tony, alone, she wouldn't have a problem watching this. Some of the more explicit scenes would no doubt make her squirm, and she may well worry that the more... creative... parts might give Tony some ideas she wasn't entirely comfortable with, but it wouldn't really be a problem. In fact, she might not even notice that the characters spent more time making passionate love than doing anything else. But watching it with Gibbs, of all people? And his... whatever she was? ('Ex-girlfriend' didn't seem to cover it, because Gibbs had his hand on Jenny's hip and kept squeezing it in a way that convinced Kate their relationship wasn't strictly platonic). It was embarrassing. It was _horrible_.

"I'm going to bed," Kate announced when she couldn't bear it anymore. "'Night."

Tony stood up to follow. "Me too," he said.

Kate side-stepped Tony's attempts to rest a hand on the small of her back, painfully aware that Gibbs' icy blue gaze was boring between her shoulder blades as she and Tony made their way to the bedroom. The same bedroom. Together.

It was one thing to know that Gibbs knew about their relationship. It was another thing entirely to flaunt it in front of his nose, parading their intimacy. In much the same way as Kate would be too embarrassed to sit at the dinner table in her parent's house and make out with her boyfriend in front of the entire family, going to bed with Tony – and being so obvious about – in front of Gibbs was a somewhat undesirable experience.

Kate stopped suddenly and glanced between the two bedroom doors. Something else had just occurred to her.

"What?" Tony asked.

"There's, um, only two bedrooms," Kate explained, turning to face Jenny, shifting from foot to foot and avoiding eye contact with Gibbs. "If we go in here that means you two will have to..." she gestured at the door to what used to be her room.

"Well, I'm not sharing with DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

There was a long, awkward moment before Kate nodded her head and disappeared into the bedroom, Tony hot on her heels, and closed the door. "God," she groaned. "I cannot take two weeks of this, Tony."

"Want me to cheer you up?" Tony offered, a sleazy grin adorning his features as he reached for Kate.

"Not until I have my stitches out," Kate reminded him, shrugging away from Tony and retrieving her pyjamas. "Doctor's orders."

Tony made a face, but didn't moan. He had a sneaking suspicion that Dr. Sleazeball had made up the rule about not having sex until Kate's stitches were out simply as a sadistic way to drive him slowly crazy, but Kate seemed fairly convinced that things like that were unethical, so he had to keep his complaints to himself.

"Do you think Gibbs and Jenny are getting it on?" Tony asked, tugging his clothes off and dropping them onto the floor in a pile before flopping onto the bed in his boxers and folding his hands behind his head.

Kate wrinkled her nose. "DiNozzo, that's disgusting," she said.

"Why? She's hot. He's... well, I don't know what she sees in him, but obviously something..."

"Gibbs had his hands all over Jenny," Kate conceded thoughtfully, turning away from Tony and changing into her pyjamas. "There might be something going on."

Tony sighed, watching Kate longingly. "At least someone's seeing some action," he muttered.

"Pig," Kate retorted, and Tony grinned. He wasn't going to deny it.

Kate climbed into bed beside Tony, sliding under the duvet and planting a soft kiss on Tony's cheek.

"Goodnight," she murmured, before settling down to sleep and closing her eyes.

Tony didn't reply, just tugged the covers a little higher over Kate's shoulder when she lay down.

The night was quiet and still, the soft mumble of voices from the next room the only sign that Gibbs and Jenny were still up, and Kate – still a little drained from the illness and the ensuing panic – was perfectly content to curl up and go straight to sleep. She was almost there, her eyes shut and her thoughts drifting into dreamland, lulled by the sound of the voices on the other side of the door, when Tony spoke.

"Maybe she likes power." His voice, thick and loud in the peace and shattering Kate's rest, jolted Kate from her slumber.

"What?" Kate asked, rubbing her eyes and rolling over to face Tony. "Who likes power?"

"Jenny," Tony explained, looking at Kate patiently as if he was explaining something to a stupid child.

"What are you talking about, Tony?" Kate moaned, burying her face in her pillow. Frankly, she didn't care what he was talking about, but he was clearly going to talk about it anyway so she may as well make some sense out of it.

"Jenny. Maybe, the reason she likes Gibbs is that he's so domineering." Kate lifted her head, staring at Tony with a frown on her face. "Some people are into that sort of thing, aren't they?" Tony said defensively.

"You're disgusting," Kate muttered, hiding her head – this time under the pillow, not just against it – and turning away. "Go to sleep."

"You've got to be open-minded," Tony scolded. There was a pause, before Tony's contemplative tones once again broke the silence. "Do you think they use handcuffs?" Kate rolled her eyes, not willing to answer him and fuel his perverted little thoughts. Tony, however, was not planning on having the conversation with himself. "Kate? Kate?" He nudged her gently between the shoulder blades. "Kate. I know you can hear me. Kate?"

"What?" Kate snapped, turning over and glaring at him. "Stop poking me, I'm trying to sleep!"

"But I'm not tired."

"Well I am! Leave me alone!"

"Come on, Kate, aren't you just a little bit curious about their relationship?"

"Yes," Kate admitted. "I'm curious. I'd like to know how they feel about each other. But I do not want to spend all night imagining what kinky sex antics they get up to. It's none of our business, and I'd rather not know."

Tony made a face that Kate didn't see in the darkness, and sighed. "Alright," he muttered. "I'll go to sleep then. Goodnight."

And with that, he lay down and shut his eyes. Kate nodded, settling down again, but within five minutes she was tossing and turning. Although she'd been tired before, Tony interrupting her sleep had left her feeling antsy. She couldn't get comfortable, and the fidgeting around had woken her up. At several points during the day the lethargy had threatened to overwhelm her and she'd had trouble keeping her eyes open – now that it was time to go to sleep, she found she couldn't. She was still tired, but sleep just wouldn't come.

"God dammit," she muttered, sitting up and peering at Tony. "DiNozzo, you may as well talk because now I can't sleep." Kate got no reply. "Tony? DiNozzo, are you _asleep_?" She nudged him, then scraped her fingernails lightly down his spine, then tugged on a tuft of hair that was sticking up on the top of his head. The only response she got was a snuffle and a twitch, and a few unhappy mumbles as he curled away from her and dreamt on.

Typical.

Kate lay back down, clasping her hands behind her head and staring up at the ceiling.

She got up to three hundred and fourteen sheep before she finally fell into fitful, broken sleep.

The rain woke her first, getting stronger and weaker in fits and bursts, before finally stopping and leaving the apartment in unnatural silence. After the noise of the storm, it seemed strange to suddenly be left in quiet. So she had listened out for noises – and of course, in a city like Paris, there was plenty of noise. Cars, people, animals, all moving around outside to supply a constant buzz, if you listened out for it instead of ignoring it. Then the fact that she was lying in bed with Tony, while Gibbs shared a bed with Jenny in the next room, suddenly hit Kate and she was filled with self-conscious discomfort that rendered sleep unattainable.

Kate sighed and folded her arms behind her head. It wasn't light yet, and she could just make out the shadowy shapes of the bedroom in the dark. Turning her head slightly, she saw Tony's shadowy figure beside her. He was on his front, the duvet tucked up around his neck, breathing deeply. Fast asleep. Kate squirmed a little closer to Tony, trying to share some of his body heat, but she sensed she was just making him cold with her icy skin against his legs and she didn't want to wake him up. She glanced at the clock – 03.25. Great.

She'd tried thinking of something terribly mundane and boring, but no matter how hard she tried counting sheep or reciting the alphabet in her head, her mind always drifted onto something else before she even realized it. She'd heard that sleeping at the other end of the bed helped, but the idea of sleeping with Tony's feet in her face was pretty unappealing. She could turn the pillow over – that was supposed to help too. Sitting up, she gently eased the pillow from under Tony's head. He mumbled sleepily and twitched his arm, but didn't move.

"Why can't you keep to your own side of the damn bed?" Kate muttered, giving up trying to get her pillow back and flopping down onto the mattress again, with only a small wince as she remembered her bruised abdomen – the doctor was right, the painkillers worked.

Tony, however, just grunted, totally oblivious. Kate momentarily considered accidentally-on-purpose kicking him in the shin to wake him up, so at least she wouldn't be the only one stuck awake, but that would be cruel. Besides, he'd only moan and fall asleep again.

Surely it must be nearly time to get up? Kate rolled over and checked the clock. 03:41. Great. Sighing, Kate got out of bed and made sure Tony was still covered with the duvet before pulling the blanket from the end of the bed and wrapping it around her shoulders. She made her way across the room, tripping over Tony's rucksack and falling into the wall with a thud.

"Oowww," she groaned, rubbing her knee where it had collided with the wall, and sneaking a glance at Tony to see if the noise had woken him up. It hadn't – he was still fast asleep, sprawled out over the bed, snoring contentedly. Ah well. At least she'd just bruised her knee, not done any further damage to her stitches.

Kate scowled at Tony and crept into the kitchen, blinking as she turned the lights on, and put a mug of milk into the microwave. She didn't like hot milk all that much, to be honest, but she drunk it sometimes when she needed to get to sleep but was too hyped up from the day's adrenaline rush and coffee-overload. It certainly beat her alternative relaxation method of pacing around biting her nails and twitching at the slightest noise, until she exhausted herself and fell asleep on the couch.

The microwave let out a shrill beeping – a noise that, in the middle of the night, could have been as loud as a bomb. Glaring at the machine and snatching her drink, Kate made her way into the living room and curled up on the sofa with the comforter tucked over her. She turned the TV on and peered out at the screen through her little cocoon of blankets.

Twenty minutes later, Kate shifted from under the blanket and picked up the remote control. She'd thought that watching cheesy infomercial channels would make her bored and lull her to sleep, but it was just making her agitated. They seemed to have a grand total of five products on constant rotation – and if she had to watch that smiley blonde woman with the too-tight sweater demonstrate how to use a smoothie machine one more time, she was going to scream. She understood why they felt the need to advertise their products, but show you how to use them? Fair enough if it was some complex piece of gym equipment like the previous ad, especially if the person demonstrating was that twenty-year-old, tanned, muscular personal trainer that kept flexing his muscles at the camera, but why, _why_, did they think someone wouldn't know how to use what was essentially a glorified blender? And why, when they made a banana smoothie or a strawberry milkshake, did they have to squeal with excitement and grin like they'd just done something extremely clever? She wasn't sure if it was because she was tired or just plain moody, but as far as Kate was concerned, if you couldn't use a blender (or work out how from the pictures on the side of the box) then you were officially an idiot and you should have to smash up your own fruit. Switching to an equally boring but less infuriating program about antiques, Kate flopped onto her front and rested her chin on her hands.

God, TV was crap at 4am. Kate tried to think of someone – anyone – who would actually want to watch any of the shows on at this time. You basically had a choice of commercials, grainy old broadcasts from decades ago and the odd rugby game that was broadcast live from the other side of the world. And the scary thing was, people actually got _paid_ for producing this rubbish.

She was just drifting off to sleep when the antique show finished and a blaringly cheerful theme song with cartoon wardrobes danced onto the screen. Why do that? Why ruin a perfectly good insomnia cure with that damn song? Groaning, Kate checked the time – 04.29. She'd only been up an hour? It felt like all night. And it was far too early to get up.

Shivering, Kate pulled the blanket tighter around her and got to her feet. At least lying awake in bed would be more comfortable than lying awake on the sofa, and Tony was there to keep her warm. Besides, if she did manage to fall asleep in bed, Tony would be quiet and leave her where she was the next morning. But if she wasn't in bed when he woke up, he would assume she'd already got up and he would almost definitely wake her with a cheerful (and loud) 'Morning, Kate!' as he left the bedroom.

As Kate slid into bed, she felt Tony's arm snake around her waist, carefully avoiding the dressings that protected her aching and bruised right side. She needed another painkiller, really, but she'd have to go find her bag to take some and she wasn't sure it was worth it.

"Where did you go?" Tony murmured sleepily into Kate's hair, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head.

"Couldn't sleep," Kate whispered, running her fingers up and down the arm that lay over her ribcage. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," Tony yawned. "Just missed you. Are you in pain?"

"No, I just can't sleep."

Tony tugged her gently towards him, draping his leg across hers for the contact and kissing her cheek softly. Kate smiled and snuggled up to Tony, stroking the fingers of her spare hand through his scruffy bed-hair. "Warm enough?" Tony asked.

"I'm a little cold," Kate admitted.

"C'mere," Tony mumbled, pulling her right up against him so she was tucked into his arms and chest and rubbing her back gently. "Better?"

"Hmm," Kate smiled, breathing in his scent and resting her forehead on his chest.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Hours," Kate sighed. "When did you wake up?"

"Five minutes ago," Tony said, stroking Kate's shoulders gently. "I thought you'd gone to the bathroom or something, you should have woken me up earlier."

"No," Kate murmured. "What's the point in both of us being awake?"

"Oh, I wonder," Tony smirked. "How will we possibly pass the time?"

"No," Kate giggled. "Unless, of course, you'd like to take another trip to the hospital to see your good friend the doctor so my stitches can be put in again..."

"It'd be worth it," Tony shrugged, trying to kiss Kate's neck.

"Uh, no, it wouldn't," Kate corrected, fighting not to smile as Tony snuggled his nose into her collar bone. "It would hurt."

"Fine," Tony said, his voice huffy with mock-offence as he turned away from Kate and stuck his nose in the air. "Maybe I'll just go see if Jenny wants any company..."

"Fine," Kate grinned. "You do that."

"Bye then."

"Bye."

Tony made no move to leave, just rolled back to face Kate and smiled. She beamed back at him, opening her mouth to protest as Tony's hand slid over her hip to cup her ass softly, but her objections were halted by Tony taking advantage of her open mouth to press his own lips against hers and bestow a deep, slow kiss on her.

"Goodnight," he said with a drowsy smirk, curling around Kate like a protective cocoon. Kate smiled, snuggling into Tony's chest and closing her eyes. "Katie?"

"Hmm?" Kate's voice was muffled against Tony's body and sleep had suddenly started to creep up on her, making it an effort to keep her eyes open.

Tony's voice was heavy and slurred with tiredness as he closed his eye, breathed in the scent of Kate's silky hair beneath his nose and said, "Thank you for the cupcakes."


	18. Chapter 18

Hey everyone! I'm really sorry this took such a long time... combination of too much schoolwork and not enough inspiration! Summer holidays start at the end of the week, though, so there should be plenty of time to write the next chapter quickly!

Thank you so much for the reviews, I really appreciate them :-)

* * *

Jenny raised her head, pushing her hair away from her eyes and looking at Gibbs. He was still asleep. Jenny smiled, reaching out carefully and stroking his short, silver hair. He didn't move. Sighing happily to herself, Jenny sat up, the sheet wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak, and leant against the headboard, combing her neatly manicured fingernails through Gibbs' hair. In all the years they'd been partners, lovers, all the times they'd woken up in the same bed, Jenny couldn't remember a single time when she'd woken before Gibbs. He always woke up first, watching her in silence until she woke up too. It must be all that caffeine. Gibbs said that watching her sleep in the early morning, with the sheets tangled around her pale skin and her red hair fanned out around her head like a halo, was the most beautiful thing in the world. Jenny had always wanted to see Gibbs like that, without his tough shell that developed when he was awake, but she never got the chance – he woke before her, all the time.

The red digits on the radio clock beside their bed – beside _Kate's_ bed, Jenny corrected herself – ticked over, minute by minute. Jenny didn't know how long Gibbs would sleep for, or when (or if) she would next get the chance to watch this man sleep. Sleep in a bed, that is. Planes and office chairs were different. They were nowhere near as rare or as sexy as the experience of sleeping with Gibbs in an actual, four-legged, made-up bed with a backboard and pillows and sheets.

When Gibbs' eyes opened, his gaze meeting Jenny's as he rolled onto his back and looked up at her, Jenny beamed at him, and his piercing blue eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled back.

"Good morning," he said softly, reaching one hand up and cupping Jenny's chin, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"Good morning to you, too," Jenny said. She had thought it didn't get much better than waiting for Gibbs to wake up – evidently, it did. Now that he was awake, now she could see the colour of his eyes and he was smiling at her and touching her, Jenny wasn't sure why she had been so keen for him to stay unconscious.

"Why are you grinning at me like that?" Gibbs asked.

"Like what?"

"Like _that_."

"No reason. I'm not used to waking up before you, that's all."

"Maybe," Gibbs growled, as Jenny giggled, slipping out of the bed and making her way to the wardrobe where Gibbs' shirt from the previous day was hanging on the door. She took it, slipping it on and doing up the buttons, "You wore me out last night and now I need to sleep to recover."

"Getting old, Jethro?" Jenny taunted.

"You're only as old as the woman you're with, Jen."

"Twenty-one, then," Jenny grinned.

Gibbs opened his mouth to reply, but his playful response was drowned out by a loud, horrified shriek from the room next door.

There was no pause, no moment of horrified realization or second of panic or confusion, no _'Oh God, did you hear that?'_ or double take as Gibbs or Jenny questioned what they were hearing or why. Gibbs simply snatched their guns up from the bedside table, throwing Jenny hers in one swift motion, and before it even occurred to them that Gibbs was wearing only boxers and Jenny was barely decent in Gibbs' shirt that didn't have quite enough buttons done up, they were in Tony and Kate's room with their guns at the ready.

--

When Tony woke up, the first thing he realised was that Kate was still curled up in his arms, just as she had been when she'd fallen asleep not more than a couple of hours ago. Poor thing. He leant against the top of her head, burying his nose into her hair and closing his eyes for a moment. The second thing he realised was that his arm was numb. Kate's head was resting against his bicep as if it were a cushion and, as adorable as Tony thought it was to see her snuggled against him like that, she'd cut off the blood supply to the rest of his arm.

Gently, carefully, trying not to disturb Kate now she was finally fast asleep, Tony eased his arm out from underneath Kate's head. He wriggled away from her slowly, laying her head down on the soft pillow beneath. With a sigh of relief that Kate hadn't woken, Tony rubbed his arm to get the blood flow back. Pins and needles flooded his arm painfully, and it took a couple of minutes of bending and stretching his stiff muscles before his arm felt back to normal.

The third thing was that there was blood. As Tony sat up, he glanced down and saw the waistband of his boxers, as well as the sheets beside him, stained red. He'd processed enough crime scenes and seen enough dead bodies to know that it was blood, and that it was fresh. Pushing the covers back, Tony's eyes widened in horror as he took in the sight of Kate's abdomen. The entire lower right side of her t-shirt was soaked through with blood, damp and sticky.

"Kate," he said urgently, shaking her shoulder to wake her up. "Kate, wake up, you're bleeding!" Kate didn't respond, her head lolling as Tony shook her. "Shit, Kate, wake _up_!"

The fourth thing Tony realised was that he couldn't wake her.

--

Tony shot up in bed, yelling. Beside him, Kate jerked awake with a frightened gasp and scrambled painfully into a sitting position. "What's wrong?" she asked, propped up on her elbows, grimacing at the pain in her stomach and trying to figure out why Tony was yelling. Gibbs and Jenny burst into the room, guns drawn. "What's wrong?" Kate repeated, panic rising in her throat and escaping in her voice. "Tony?"

"What the hell is going on?" Gibbs barked.

Tony glanced around the room frantically, grabbing Kate and clutching her close to his chest, trembling and squeezing her.

"What's wrong?" Kate pleaded, tensing at the pain as Tony's elbow dug into her stomach.

Tony didn't explain. He did murmur something into the top of Kate's head, but he didn't expect she heard, and it wouldn't make sense if she had. He knew he was hurting her, but he had to struggle with himself to loosen his hold on her middle. It was only her plaintive cries of 'Tony, you're really hurting me' that convinced him to let go of her midriff and wrap his arms around her shoulders instead. He knew Jenny was still staring at him, confused, and Gibbs was angry, and that Kate was worried, but Tony couldn't bring himself to explain. He would, obviously, but for now… Now, he just wanted to hold Kate tightly to him and feel her heart beating, absorb her warmth against his chest, feel her moving, hear her breathing, until he had convinced himself that his dream had been just that – a dream. A nightmare, yes, but still a dream. A figment of his over-stressed mind, conjuring up all his worry about the case and Kate's hospital dash and morphing it all into one horrible, terrifying dream.

Gibbs lowered his weapon. Jenny followed his cue, looking baffled. "What -" she began, unsure as to what had just happened.

"C'mon," he muttered, nodding at the door and slipping away while Tony buried his face in Kate's shoulder and dug his nails into her back so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Jenny looked surprised as they slunk out, but Gibbs knew what it was like to wake up certain – even for the briefest of moments – that something terrible had happened to the person beside you while you slept and there was nothing you could do. He'd woken up with Shannon enough times, his eyes wild like Tony's were now and his whole body trembling, trying to explain even as his words got jumbled in his throat and all he could do was cling to her until he'd calmed down. She'd cry, sometimes, seeing the desperation on her husband's face. Gibbs never told her what had upset him so much. _"Nightmares"_ he'd say, and shake his head when Shannon looked at him curiously and silently asked for details. He didn't think she needed to know that he'd just seen her and Kelly killed, shot and bleeding, and he hadn't got there until it was too late, or that it had been so clear and vivid he could taste the blood in the air even after he woke up. That image wouldn't do anybody any good, so he kept it to himself. Shannon never pressed him, though. She understood. She let him squeeze her until her smooth, pale ribcage bore purple bruises, and she held his hand all day long, and she whispered comforting nonsense into his ear like she did to Kelly when she was a baby. And, when the time came to go to sleep again, Gibbs managed to convince himself it was only a nightmare. Until one day it wasn't. Gibbs didn't know the specifics of Tony's dream – contrary to popular belief, he wasn't a mind-reader – but he knew that the last thing he needed was to have him and Jenny hovering in the doorway with guns and demanding to know what was wrong.

--

It was a couple of hours before Tony and Kate emerged from the bedroom, hand in hand. Gibbs and Jenny were in the living room, poring over their own section of the morning newspaper, when Tony sat in the armchair and Kate curled up in his lap with her eyes closed.

"What's wrong with her?" Gibbs asked. He expected Kate to reply, though his question was directed at Tony. A fiercely independent response informing him that she had a _name_, that Tony was not her keeper, that it was her stomach they operated on, not her mouth, and she was perfectly capable of answering for herself. Or a dismissive brush off, designed to convince him that she was okay, even when the lie came from between clenched teeth and her voice echoed with pain. Or even biting sarcasm, inviting Gibbs to ponder the fact that she had recently been sliced open, parts of her cut out, and then sewn back together again and now the painkillers were wearing off so how did he _think_ she felt?

Any of those would be fine. More than fine. They'd show Gibbs that, even though she may be as sore and aching as was to be expected after surgery, she wasn't suffering horribly. A little bit of pain might make Kate snappy and irritable – after all, she saw fit to mouth off at Ari's men even after they smacked her in the face – but it didn't do any lasting damage. To her, at least.

The answer Gibbs got – Tony, combing his fingers through Kate's hair and saying, "She's in pain," while Kate lay against him with her fists clenched – only served to convince him that Kate was definitely not alright.

"The Doctor said this would happen, didn't he?" Jenny said, the voice of reason, seeing the dark look in Gibbs' eyes that appeared when his peoples' welfare was threatened. "That after the first day or so, the pain would kick in?"

Kate nodded, and Gibbs' scowl faded slightly. It didn't go away, but it faded.

Gibbs did not like this. He did not like Kate in her pyjamas or Tony comforting his girlfriend, or watching movies as a group or sharing dinner. The entire thing was far too domestic for Gibbs, and he could feel all the webs of control he usually held at his fingertips slowly spiralling loose with every second that he spent in this strangely surreal place. He took a long sip of his coffee, hoping that the caffeine might help.

It didn't. Well, it did. For about a minute. Then he looked up and had to endure the sight of Kate – his strong, tough, my-balls-are-bigger-than-yours-and-watch'ya-gonna-do-about-it agent – grin, actually _grin_, when pain had been etched on her face less than a minute ago, and hiss, "Gibbs is watching!" as Tony's right hand strayed from the top of her knee, where it had been resting, and creep down her thigh to grope her ass.

Gibbs scowled. She didn't protest because it was sexual harassment, or she was in pain, or she simply didn't appreciate having her butt grabbed. She protested because _he_ was there. Taking another sip of his coffee, making sure not to break eye contact with Tony, who had looked up at the mention of Gibbs' name as if he had forgotten he was in the room, Gibbs silently vowed to drag this trip out for as long as he could, no matter how uncomfortable it got.

"Why don't you come over here and lie down, Kate?" Jenny suggested gently, seeing Kate grimace as Tony moved beneath her.

Kate nodded, struggling to her feet and stumbling forlornly over to the sofa. She lay down, smiling faintly as Jenny tugged the blanket from the back of the sofa and placed it over Kate, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. Tony watched from his place in the armchair, his eyes following Kate's every movement as she fidgeted on the sofa and tried to get comfortable.

He'd inspected her wound, earlier, when Gibbs and Jenny had gone. He'd made Kate lie down and pull her shirt up, and he'd turned the light on and stared at the tiny row of stitches on her abdomen. He peered intensely at them, searching for any sign that there was blood that shouldn't be there. He'd stroked his thumb around the incision, careful not to touch the actual gash, and asked 'Does that hurt?', and he'd put a clean dressing on it, being careful not to slip and rip open the stitches. Kate got frustrated with him, but he couldn't help it. He was worried about her.

Gibbs watched Tony watching Kate. It was obvious that was what he was doing, because he was staring at her, and when Jenny jostled Kate's foot with her elbow – by accident – Tony glared at her like she'd just slapped her in the face.

Kate was pale and dark-eyed and looked a little shaky, which concerned Gibbs. She should be in bed, he was sure, but she was tense at the best of times. After a day of enforced rest, where she was forced to lay around in uncomfortable positions with nothing to distract her from the pain in her middle, she was bound to be insufferably snappy.

Kate yawned, covering her mouth with her hand as Jenny stroked her calf comfortingly.

"Go to sleep, Kate," Gibbs ordered, and Jenny rolled her eyes at the idea that Gibbs thought he could order someone to fall asleep.

"I'm alright," Kate sighed. "I'm just drowsy from the painkillers."

"Then rest."

"I am. I've been resting for twenty four hours."

"Lying around is not the same as resting," Gibbs pointed out.

"I am resting, Gibbs!" Kate said, her irritation obvious in her voice.

Gibbs growled, deep and threatening in the back of his throat. "Kate," he hissed. "Go to sleep and get some rest."

"You don't have to be asleep to rest, Gibbs!" Kate snapped. "I can't sleep, my stomach hurts! Leave me alone!"

"Agent Todd!" Gibbs barked. Kate met Gibbs eyes, glaring defiantly at him.

"_No_," Kate ground out through clenched teeth, glowering at her boss. "I _can't_."

"Go. To. Sleep."

"Jethro," Jenny interrupted, standing up and picking her bag up from the coffee table. "Let's go make a cup of coffee."

"Why?" Gibbs asked, incredulously.

"Come on."

Sighing, Gibbs got to his feet and followed Jenny to the door, rolling his eyes. Jenny winked at Tony, who flashed her a grateful smile, before swinging the door shut behind her.

"Bastard," Kate muttered, as soon as she thought it was safe to do so. "What's Gibbs' problem?"

"He's just grumpy," Tony soothed. "Are you alright?"

"I hate it when he calls me Agent Todd," Kate scowled. "It's like the adult version of 'young lady'."

Tony sat quietly and looked on in sympathy while Kate threw dirty glances at the kitchen door and muttered under her breath. He wasn't entirely sure what best to say to keep the peace between his partner and boss without taking sides, and at the same time, not make Kate think he was on anyone's side but hers, so he just kept his mouth shut.

"Are you really in too much pain to sleep?" Tony asked when Kate stopped her bad tempered comments about Gibbs and fell silent.

"Yeah," Kate sighed. "But it's okay, I'm not that tired."

Tony climbed out of his armchair, joining Kate on the sofa and laying down beside her. When he was a little boy – a very little boy, before his parents hated each other and when his mother was still around – and he didn't feel well, he would sit or lay in his mother's lap and she'd stroke his head and tell him stories until he forgot about the pain. Tony didn't think Kate would be quite as fascinated with tales of Anthony, the Pirate King as five-year-old Tony had been, but it was worth a try. Making sure Kate was still cosily tucked up in the blanket and was as comfortable as she could get, Tony propped himself up on his elbow and, twirling a strand of Kate's hair around the fingers of his free hand, began.

"Once upon a time," he whispered, "in a Kingdom far, far away -" Kate giggled, and Tony grinned, "- there lived a beautiful princess called Katie."

"Excuse me?" Kate asked, raising one eyebrow and looking at Tony with disdain. "A princess?"

"A beautiful princess," Tony corrected.

"And you're the knight in shining armour, I take it?"

"Let me finish the story. And one day -"

"I'm not having you save me, DiNozzo."

"And _one day_ -"

"I mean it, Tony. I had better not be a damsel in distress."

"This is my story," Tony said, "Not yours. Shush. _And one day_, the beautiful princess Katie – who was, naturally, incredibly strong and smart and capable – was out walking in her castle with her little pet dragon, Fluffy -"

"_Fluffy_?" Kate repeated, her voice dripping with undisguised disgust. "You're kidding, right?"

"Okay, not Fluffy. Spot?"

"DiNozzo, I am warning you..."

"With her pet dragon, Spike, who was very, very menacing and not in the least bit lame, and they came across a great big tree. Princess Katie – on account of being so strong and capable and smart – climbed up into the tree, and looked out over her Kingdom. But then, just as she was admiring her wonderful land, a wicked witch came flying down on her broomstick and kidnapped Spike."

"Oh no!" Kate gasped, her eyes wide in mock-horror as she covered her mouth with her hands. "Spike!"

"Did I ask for audience participation?" Tony asked. "No. This is supposed to be a story to relax you, and make you rest. Not to showcase your acting skills."

Kate nodded, resting her head against Tony's chest and sighing. "Sorry," she said. "I'm resting. Tell me the story."

"So, what with Princess Katie being so smart and strong and capable, as well as beautiful, she set out to rescue him. And on the way, she met a dashing, smart, and wonderful prince, called -"

"Let me guess – Tony?"

"Shh! So Prince Tony said to Princess Katie 'oh, beautiful princess, who is also smart and strong and capable, whatever are you doing?'..."

--

By the time the story came to an end, Gibbs and Jenny had returned from their coffee-making mission and were listening to Tony. Kate was half-asleep, curled up against Tony's chest, no longer arguing or fidgeting and instead lying still and relaxed. Her hair was tickling Tony's chin – she smelt like honey.

"And they all lived happily ever after," Tony said, absentmindedly stroking patterns onto the back of Kate's neck with his thumb. "The end."

Kate lifted her head, rubbing her bleary eyes with one hand. "Hmm?" she asked, sleepily.

"Nothing," Tony soothed. "The story's finished, that's all. You were asleep."

"You mean we listened to that tripe for nothing?" Gibbs asked. "She was _asleep_?"

"You're the one that wanted her to rest," Jenny admonished. "And look, she looks so much better now." Jenny smiled at Tony. "I thought it was lovely, Tony."

"So," Tony said, embarrassed that what had started out as a bit of a joke to get Kate to rest had turned into a spectacle. "Jenny. You seem nice. What are your intentions with our boss?"

Kate rolled her eyes, digging him in the stomach with her elbow (not too hard, though – he had just told her a very sweet story). Gibbs' eyes narrowed as he fixed Tony with his most menacing glare. Jenny, however, just laughed.

"We're just catching up on old times," she said, her eyes sparkling.

"Naked?" Tony asked hopefully.

He didn't get a reply – Kate cut him off with an outraged cry of, "DiNozzo!"

"I'm just asking!" Tony protested. "I'm trying to make them feel comfortable," he said to Kate, before turning back to Jenny. "There's no need to be shy. We're all adults here."

"That's questionable," Gibbs muttered, and Tony glared at him.

"We are," he retorted. "In fact, maybe we could share some observations with each other and improve -"

"Get out!" Kate ordered, smacking Tony in the arm and trying desperately hard not to laugh. "You're disgusting, go away!"

Grinning, Tony made his way to the kitchen. He winked at Jenny as he passed, licking his lips lasciviously. Kate threw a pillow at him, Jenny rolled her eyes, and Gibbs got to his feet. Tony yelped, dashing into the kitchen and closing the door quickly.

"Jethro, sit down," Jenny sighed, reaching for his arm and pulling him back into his chair. "You'll only encourage him."

"Encourage?"

"Yes, encourage. He's not doing any harm."

Kate blocked out their arguing, rubbing her hand over her stomach as if that would soothe the pain. She reached for the bottle of painkillers sitting on the coffee table, shaking two of them into her hand.

"Here you go, Sweetheart," Jenny said, leaning over and passing Kate the glass of water from the table and joining her on the sofa. "Are you feeling okay?"

Kate nodded – a sign both Jenny and Gibbs accurately took to mean 'no' – and swallowed the pills with a grimace.

Gibbs looked a little pissed at the way Jenny so abruptly ended the conversation, moving on to take care of Kate instead, but he didn't say anything. How could he? It would sound petty. And he really didn't mind Jenny looking after Kate. Someone had to, while Tony was banished to the kitchen, and Gibbs was fairly certain Kate would rather be left alone than receive any kind of fatherly comfort from him. He wasn't too keen on giving her any, either. Of course, he wanted her to feel better. Of all his team, he probably felt the most protective of her. He respected her, liked her, even. If there was something he could do to ease her pain and aid her recovery, he'd do it. But cuddling her like Jenny was doing now? Stroking her hair like Tony did, all the time? Whispering soothingly to her and telling her she'd feel better soon? That would do more harm than good, coming from him.

The kitchen door opened and Tony poked his head around. "Is it safe?" he asked.

"Come on in," Jenny smiled softly, seeing the smile on Kate's face when Tony appeared.

Tony pushed the door open the rest of the way with his foot, emerging from the kitchen with four steaming mugs balanced precariously on a tray in his hands. He put it down on the table, kneeling on the floor beside the sofa.

"Are you alright?" he asked Kate, reaching up to stroke her cheek gently.

"I'm fine," she nodded.

"Liar," Tony grinned, and Kate smiled weakly. "But never fear, Tony's here," he smirked. "I brought you a hot chocolate."

Tony passed Kate the steaming mug of creamy liquid, deliberately brushing his fingers against hers. He squeezed onto the sofa beside Jenny and Kate, giving Jenny an appreciative glance up and down before turning his attentions back to Kate. He rested his hand on her leg, letting her lean against him, and squeezing her thigh gently when she sighed heavily. She sipped the hot chocolate contentedly – it had been a long time since she'd had hot chocolate. It wasn't that she didn't like it, but working for Gibbs and adhering to the hectic schedules of NCIS meant her regular visits to the coffee shop were to pick up something with more caffeine than simply hot chocolate.

"Do you remember," Kate asked quietly, snuggling up to Tony as she finished her drink, "being a kid? When kisses and hot chocolate could make 'most everything better?"

"That was the effect I was going for," Tony admitted. "Did it work?"

"Not really," Kate admitted. "It did taste good, though."

Tony tilted Kate's head up, leaning down to kiss her softly on the lips. "Better, yet?"

"I don't know," Kate giggled. "Best try again, just to be sure."

--

"Your feet smell."

Gibbs looked up wearily, eyeing Kate and Tony across the living room. He was working at the laptop, Jenny by his side, and Kate and Tony seemed to have seized the opportunity to wind one another up. Either Tony was taunting Kate, poking and prodding her and then dodging out of her way before she – her mobility reduced by her stitches – could retaliate in kind, or Kate was teasing Tony and making sarcastic comments about everything. It was like a particularly bad day at work, but with no case to send them out after or no errands to make them do. Gibbs was beginning to think he'd go crazy by the time the day was out, if they carried on like this. They were obviously bored, but Gibbs had better things to be doing with his time than entertain the two of them, and he had assumed that they'd be capable of being adult about it for an hour or so. But since lunchtime, they'd spent the entire time bickering and fighting, and Gibbs and Jenny had found themselves having to intervene several times to stop it descending into violence. Gibbs wasn't sure which was worse – watching them crawl over one another like they'd been doing this morning, or listening to them bicker like they were this afternoon. How on earth could two people change so quickly?

"Your feet smell, real bad," Kate repeated, nudging Tony to get a reaction.

"Good," Tony replied.

"Idiot," Kate muttered, and Tony tugged his sock off and threw it in her face. Kate squealed in disgust, punching Tony in the arm and pushing his sock away. Tony leaned across and flicked Kate hard on the side of her head, making her yell. "Ow!" Kate protested, glaring at Tony. "What did you do that for?"

"You punched me."

"Only because you threw your sock in my face!"

"Yeah, because you said my feet smell."

"Well, they do!"

"Leave each other alone, or I'll separate you," Gibbs growled.

Scowling, Kate and Tony glared at one another but fell silent. They weren't sure what Gibbs meant by 'separate' – he could mean put them in different rooms, or he could mean throw them out of opposite windows. Neither of them really wanted to find out.

Kate sighed. She didn't like arguing with Tony, especially now she was getting more and more used to him being so gentle and sweet, but sometimes he could be so insufferable! He didn't even have to _do_ anything – sometimes, a look was enough. The way he was sitting, or the way he said her name. It irritated the hell out of her, and he knew it, and he did it deliberately because he liked getting a reaction. She knew all that, just as she'd known when she was five that her brothers only took her toys to make her scream and if she shut up they'd get bored and give them back, but it didn't make it any easier to keep quiet about it. And yes, she started it sometimes, but _God_ he deserved it.

Tony smirked to himself as Kate sulked. He got a kick out of watching her get more and more infuriated, and he got a kick out of Gibbs telling her off, and he got a kick out of knowing that she wanted to break his skull but couldn't. Not to mention the fact even though he... cared for her... she really did get on his nerves sometimes. She was so... _ugh_. Such a prim and proper, smug little know-it-all. When he'd been a little boy, one of his cousins had been the tidiest, politest, perfect-est child on the planet. Tony never spent any time with her, met her maybe three times, but each of those three times had been immense fun. There was nothing more entertaining than chasing that stupid girl, with her neatly braided hair and frilly white dress, around muddy fields and throwing frogs at her and getting her all dirty. It was like that with Kate – she was so collected and strong, shattering that shell and watching the colour rise in her cheeks and her eyes narrow to little slits as she fought to regain her temper was like a game.

There was a long, long silence between Kate and Tony, each of them glowering at one another, throwing quick glances to Gibbs to make sure he was hidden away behind the computer before making faces at each other.

It was immature, it really was. Immature, and annoying, and downright stupid.

It was fun, though.

--

Sighing, Tony glared at Kate and folded his arms up behind his head. "This is all your fault, you know," he said, lounging on the bed. "That we're stuck in here."

Kate made a face, knowing Tony didn't see it and feeling an inexplicably smug (though admittedly childish) satisfaction. "Isn't," she retorted under her breath, looking up at the ceiling from her place beside Tony. "It's yours. And we're not _stuck_ in here; we can go out if we want."

"Gibbs told us to stay."

"Gibbs isn't our father," Kate pointed out. "And we're not children. He can't send us to bed."

A while ago, Tony's winding Kate up had gone too far and their petty squabbling across the dinner table had turned in to a full-on fight afterwards, resulting in Kate stamping on Tony's foot. Naturally, Tony had felt he had to retaliate ("It's the principle of it, Boss!" he'd whined, when Gibbs had pulled him up on ramming his elbow Kate's bruised and tender stomach as hard as he could), and she'd returned in kind by doubling over and clutching her injuries before throwing her fist out and colliding with Tony right between the legs, at which point Gibbs had thrown them out of his and Jenny's 'civilised company' before they did any real harm. The kitchen was out of the question, reeking as it did of the dinner that Tony had burnt, so the bedroom had seemed like the best option of escaping Gibbs' wrath. It wasn't until they got in there, however, that they realised that being sent into the kitchen to get out of the way was one thing – being sent to their bedroom was entirely another.

For all she told Tony about Gibbs not being their father, Kate couldn't help but draw comparisons between the way Gibbs had banished her and Tony and the way her own father used to send her and her siblings to their rooms for arguing when she was little. The look on his face that said he expected to be obeyed, the tone that brooked no argument (no verbal argument, anyway – Kate would not dare challenge either man on the subject, though in her head she was stamping her feet and screaming). Upon hearing Gibbs' stern command, she'd hung back as long as she dared and dragged her feet towards the bedroom just as she'd done when she was a little girl, and it wasn't until Gibbs took a step towards her that she hightailed it into the room behind Tony and shut the door. She was certain (well, fairly certain...) that Gibbs wouldn't spank her like her father had on similar occasions, but she didn't exactly want to hang around and let him get his hands on her. And, of course, there was the fact that even while she and Tony argued over who was taking up too much space on the bed and who was to blame for getting them sent here in the first place, their voices were hushed and whispering. They both had enough sense not to bring Gibbs into the bedroom.

Tony, too, was struggling. He was feeling terribly aggrieved at the unfairness of it all – how was he to blame if Kate didn't have a sense of humour? – but more than that, he would have rather put up with the singed kitchen than sit in his bedroom all evening like a naughty little boy. That was Kate's fault as well – he had headed for the kitchen, but she'd caught his arm and pointed at the bedroom. "It stinks in there," she'd protested. "_You_ burnt the dinner. At least the bedroom smells okay." Strictly speaking, he could probably get up and go outside, have a shower or watch a movie, and Gibbs wouldn't really do anything about it. It was the endless squabbling he had an issue with, not Tony, so there was no need for him to feel so bad about it – he hadn't done anything wrong, it was Kate. And, of course, Gibbs had technically just told the two of them to go somewhere else – they could have gone to the park, if they'd wanted – and nobody had _actually _been sent to their room. But lying on the bed, dwelling on the injustice of it and resenting Kate for her part in it, not daring to voice his complaints too loudly for fear of Gibbs hearing him, it sure as hell felt like it.

"I'm thirsty," Kate sighed.

"You can go get a drink of water," Tony said, looking at the door. "Gibbs can't stop you."

"No," Kate agreed. "He can't do anything to me."

"You shouldn't be allowed to just stay here and dehydrate," Tony pointed out. "He won't mind."

"Even if he does," Kate shrugged, "it doesn't matter. I'm an adult; I can get a glass of water."

"Yeah."

"I might just wait a few minutes. You know... the bed's kinda comfy."

"That's a good idea," Tony nodded. "I'll wait with you."

"Thanks."

Silence descended. The unspoken acknowledgement that neither of them intended on leaving the room until (a) Gibbs gave them permission, or (b) Gibbs went to bed, hung between them and taunted them. They could both deny it and make excuses as much as they wanted, but the simple fact of the matter was that they would do what Gibbs told them, and that included spending the evening sitting on the bed doing nothing. Kate settled back against the pillows, stroking her hand softly over her stomach where the pain from Tony's elbow-attack hadn't yet faded.

"You okay?" Tony asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

Kate nodded, rubbing her stomach in an attempt to ease the pain. "I think I'll go to bed," Kate sighed, carefully sitting up and clambering awkwardly off the bed. "I don't feel so good."

Tony watched guiltily as Kate changed into her pyjamas. With bated breath, he watched her hover by the door as if debating whether or not to venture outside, and listened as hard as he could as she crept across the hall to the bathroom. He could hear her footsteps, but Gibbs didn't seem to care. Tony listened to the water running in the bathroom, then Kate making her way back into the bedroom. When she reappeared safe and sound, Tony grinned at her. The smile she returned didn't match his in terms of relief or sense of adventure – in fact, it was positively sickly.

"How long until your stitches are out?" Tony asked, his voice slightly strangled, as Kate climbed into bed beside him and curled up under the duvet. "Because I'm not tired..."

"Soon," Kate promised, shifting around trying to get comfortable and smoothing her shirt gently to make sure it didn't catch on her bandage. "But the doctor said we might have to wait even longer, remember? Just to be safe."

"Six weeks," Tony groaned, noting the tremor of pain in Kate's voice and stroking her shoulder sympathetically as he wiggled under the covers with her. "I know. I'm going to die."

"You're not going to die," Kate scolded, turning the bedside lamp off and swatting Tony's straying hand away. "And it might not be a whole six weeks. It still might be as soon as my stitches come out."

"It had better be," Tony muttered, as Kate curled up against him and he folded her into his arms. "Or I really will die. Or turn into one of those crazy serial killers, knifing everyone in sight because of pent-up sexual frustration. That'll be all your fault, you know. You'll be sorry then."

"I'm sorry now," Kate said, and Tony grinned.

"How sorry?" he asked, carefully undoing the drawstring on Kate's pyjama bottoms.

"DiNozzo!" Kate hissed, pushing him away.

"But your stitches are all the way up there," Tony moaned, gesturing at Kate's midriff. "I'll be careful, I promise." He smirked. "I'll even tie you up so you can't move around too much."

"You will not!" Kate said. "Get off me!"

"Or what?" Tony grinned.

"Or I'll scream for Gibbs," Kate snapped, trying to pull away.

"Okay," Tony promised, tightening his grip on Kate so she couldn't escape. "I'll just stay like this. Stay here."

Kate eyed him suspiciously for a moment or two, before nodding her head and relaxing against him. His clothes smelt good. Safe.

"Kate?" Tony whispered into the top of her head, feeling the silkiness of her hair brush against his nose. "I'm really sorry I hurt you."

"Me too," Kate murmured in response, closing her eyes. The combination of pain, not enough rest last night and the drowsiness that came with her painkillers made her drift into sleep almost immediately, her hand clasped softly around Tony's t shirt as he held her to him, like a child.

Tony cradled Kate in his arms, occasionally dropping a kiss to her pale forehead or shh-ing her when she stirred. He couldn't sleep. It was early, and he wasn't really tired, not to mention the fact that he was dressed, but… it was more than that. He couldn't shake the impression that there was something worse coming. That dream last night had freaked him out. It was nonsense. It was ridiculous. Tony didn't even believe in that kind of thing. But even so, as he brushed a strand of hair from Kate's face, he vowed to keep a very, very close eye on her. Just in case.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: Hey guys! There's good news and bad news about this chapter - the good news is that this was originally longer, but I decided it was better as two chapters, so the next chapter is nearly done already. The bad news is, I'm kind of nervous about this chapter, because you probably won't like it much... I apologise in advance. And I assure you, there is a method to my madness! Let me know what you think, anyway :-) And, as always, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Very much appreciated :-)_

_Oh, and don't worry, Julia - Tough Kate will be back very, very soon! And so will Stefan and the case._

* * *

"Tell me some more about Princess Katie."

Tony looked at Kate, lying next to him in the bed with the sheets drawn up to her shoulders. Her forehead was damp with sweat, her legs, pressed up against Tony's, trembling slightly. It was only mid-afternoon, but the curtains were drawn and the bedroom door shut; the room was in darkness, at Kate's request. Gibbs and Jenny were at the supermarket, leaving the two of them alone.

"She's already rescued Spike, defeated the witch and married her prince," Tony groaned. "What more do you want?" He wasn't the greatest fan of Princess Katie anymore. It was one thing when Kate was tired and miserable and needed distracting from the pain she was in. It was entirely another when her stitches were out, she'd been given the all-clear to, ahem, 'have intercourse' (and how bitter Dr. Sleazeball had looked about it!) and was lying naked in bed beside him.

"I don't know," Kate wheedled, stroking her hands softly over Tony's toned torso. "I was just wondering about her honeymoon night..." Kate looked up at Tony, peeking out from behind her fringe and smirking. She knew she had him. "Maybe, you could give me some demonstrations..."

--

"I take it you're feeling better now?" Tony grinned, peeling a limp, slightly-dazed Kate off his chest and tipping her onto the mattress, where she landed with a soft bounce.

"You have no idea," Kate murmured happily, reaching out a floppy hand to clasp Tony's and resting her head against his shoulder. "I don't think I can move."

"You can," Tony promised.

"I'm not sure I want to," Kate admitted, and Tony beamed, kissing her forehead.

"No," he said, "Me either."

"I need a shower, though," Kate said.

"Right now?"

"Yeah," Kate sighed. "And don't take this the wrong way, Tony, but I think I need a break. You're very... enthusiastic."

"Did I hurt you?" Tony asked, worried. He was all for enthusiasm, but he didn't like the idea of causing Kate any discomfort.

"Not at all," Kate assured him with a grin, sitting up and slipping off the bed. "I just need a rest." She pulled her t shirt over her head, rolling her eyes at the hungry look on Tony's face and seizing his sweatpants from the end of the bed.

"You don't need to get dressed, you know," Tony smirked. "We're the only ones here."

"Yeah, well," Kate retorted, pulling the drawstring as tight as she could get it and shuffling towards the door with the legs of Tony's trousers trailing on the floor. "What if Gibbs and Jenny get back when I'm halfway to the shower? What if there's a robber, and we have to run outside?"

"They've gone to the supermarket to get dinner. They've barely been gone an hour," Tony dismissed. "They'll be ages. And I'll defend you from robbers, you won't need to run outside. Get naked."

"No," Kate laughed. "Nice try, Tony."

Shuffling towards the bathroom, trying not to trip over the way-way-_way_-too-long sweatpants, Kate did her best to ignore the lascivious banter Tony was throwing after her. It wasn't easy. Still, she managed it, and within minutes, hot water from the shower was drumming against her skin and bouncing off her shoulders as she massaged shampoo into her scalp and closed her eyes. God, the water felt good. Kate took her time in the shower, lathering sweet-smelling lotions over her skin and rinsing them off, tilting her head back against the spray and letting the water pound onto her neck. There was no need to hurry – Gibbs and Jenny would be ages yet, and Tony was most likely conked out on the bed fast asleep by now.

Kate smirked to herself and glanced over her shoulder. Maybe Tony wasn't asleep after all – she could hear him creeping around outside. He wasn't doing a very good job of being quiet. Probably thought she couldn't hear him over the water, and was planning to sneak up on her...

Kate switched the water off as the bathroom door clicked open. She pushed the shower door open with her foot and grinned. "Get out, DiNozzo," she called, wiping water from her eyes and turning around. "I'm -"

Gibbs stood in the doorway, one hand clamped over his face as he spun on his heel and grimaced. Kate shrieked, yanking the shower door closed again and turning to face the wall. The open bathroom door had already started to lessen the gloriously foggy condensation that coated the shower walls, but Kate was fairly certain that the heat resonating from her own burning face would quickly steam it up again and – hopefully – obscure Gibbs' view of her.

"Gibbs," Kate gasped, cringing with embarrassment and awkwardness.

"Didn't know you were in here," Gibbs said. "Didn't realise..."

"It's okay," Kate muttered, twisting her head around to try and gage the distance between her and her towel.

"I was just going to have a shower," Gibbs explained, and Kate nodded. She'd never heard Gibbs explain himself to anyone before, and she wished he wouldn't. It was weird.

"I'm done," Kate nodded. "I'll be out in a moment."

"Right," Gibbs said. "I'll leave you to it, then."

The door closed firmly, and Kate groaned before double-checking Gibbs was well and truly gone and stepping out of the shower. She wrapped her towel tightly around herself, gripping it tightly, before returning to the bedroom. Tony was, as Kate had predicted, dozing contentedly on the bed. He jerked awake as Kate collapsed on the bed beside him, bare, wet legs akimbo, and hid her still-scarlet face in her hands.

"What -" he muttered, glancing at Kate before rubbing his eyes and sitting up. "Did you have a nice shower?"

"Gibbs and Jenny are back," Kate muttered.

"So?" Tony frowned. "Why are you moody?"

"I'm not moody. And as soon as the bathroom's free, you are fixing the lock on the bathroom door, got it?"

"Yeah, I already said I'd do it-"

"No, you _said_ you'd do it the day it broke," Kate snapped. "This time, you're actually going to do it, alright?"

"Um, okay... may I ask why?"

"Because, DiNozzo, bathroom doors should have locks on them!"

"Alright!" Tony said, holding his hands up defensively. "Stressy..."

Giving him the filthiest look she could summon, Kate jabbed her elbow sharply into Tony's ribcage and climbed off the bed. "Idiot," she muttered, picking up a spare towel from the back of a chair and wrapping it around her hair.

"Jeez," Tony groaned, massaging his injured stomach and grimacing. That had been a much more vicious attack that he had become used to, and it hurt. "What's made you so freakin' grouchy? Gibbs walk in on you in the bathroom?"

"Shut up, DiNozzo," Kate snapped.

Realisation dawned on Tony. Kate's embarrassment, her short temper, her insistence that the bathroom door was fixed... "He _did_!" Tony crowed. "Oooh! What did he see? How long was he there for?" Tony laughed. "I bet he enjoyed it... did you -"

"Shut up, DiNozzo!" Kate shouted, snatching her clothes up and turning her back to Tony to change.

"Don't be embarrassed, Kate. It's just like the photo he saw of you in the wet t-shirt competition. Only, without the t shirt or the bikini bottoms." Tony laughed as Kate turned even redder and shot him a furious glance. He smirked. "I bet Jenny's jealous. Do you think I should invite her into the shower with me, so we're even?"

"He wasn't _in_ the shower with me, DiNozzo!" Kate glared at him as he eyed her towel-clad body with appreciation. "And I'm trying to get dressed! Do you mind?"

"Come to mention it..." Tony grinned.

"Get out, DiNozzo."

"But I'm your boyfriend."

"Not for very much longer," Kate mumbled under breath, glaring at Tony before storming out of the bedroom. Tony guessed she must be going into the next room to get dressed, and that was confirmed when he heard a door slam. Slam so hard the wall at Tony's head shook, actually. Kate must be pissed. Really, really pissed. He'd gone too far, he knew that. To be honest, he'd know that even as he'd been doing it. He just couldn't help it. He was used to messing around with Kate, making fun of her, winding her up. It was fun. Well, it was usually fun. Only he'd kept pushing instead of backing off, and now... Sighing, Tony thumped his head against the wooden headrest of the bed and slumped against it.

Tony lay still, listening to Kate moving around the apartment. He could hear the hum of female voices in the kitchen, and the shower running in the bathroom. As soon as the running water stopped, and he heard Gibbs' footsteps outside the door, Tony gathered his clothes and scurried into the bathroom for his own shower. The water was cold, the hot water having been drained by Gibbs and Kate one after the other, so Tony rinsed off as quickly as he could, before scrambling into his clothes for some warmth.

"Where's Kate?" he asked, entering the kitchen in a pair of jeans and a half-buttoned shirt, rubbing his damp hair with the palm of his hand to try and dry it off. He hadn't seen Kate since she got dressed, and he'd been expecting her to be in the kitchen when he got out of the shower. She wasn't in either of the bedrooms – he'd checked.

"Went for a walk," Jenny replied, locking eyes with Tony and raising a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. "And no, I'm not telling you where she went -", with that she looked at Gibbs, seated at the kitchen table, who had opened his mouth to speak, "- and yes, she'll be back in time for tonight's dinner with Stefan." She turned back to Tony, frowning. "And don't ask why she's gone, because you know damn well."

Taking her coffee mug, Jenny left the room. Gibbs looked at Tony, an unreadable expression on his face. "What did you do?" he asked.

"Why does it have to be my fault?" Tony protested, pouring himself a cup of coffee and sitting down opposite Gibbs.

"You gonna tell me it isn't?"

"No," Tony admitted.

"So what did you do?"

--

Kate pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and leant on the railings, one eye on her watch to make sure she got back in time for dinner with Stefan. She'd been standing here for hours, completely unaware of the time slipping away, and she was worried she'd lose track again. Dinner was going to be hell. Absolute hell. Right now, Kate could think of nothing that worse than sucking up to Stefan by clinging onto Tony and playing the besotted girlfriend. The man was an idiot. Actually, _both_ men were idiots – Tony and Stefan. Gibbs too. Did the man not think to knock on closed bathroom doors? Could he not hear the water running, see the steam swirling underneath the crack under the door? The shower was loud, you could hear it all over the apartment. Wasn't Gibbs supposed to be observant?

In fact, all men were idiots. And Tony was their idiotic leader.

Like it wasn't bad enough that Gibbs had... appeared, Tony wouldn't take it seriously. It was alright for him – he wasn't the one who Gibbs walked in on. Besides, he was a guy. And he didn't have anything Gibbs hadn't seen before, when Tony freaked out about that damn lizard in Cuba and leapt around with no clothes on. It was different for Kate. It wasn't even so much the fact that she had been naked. That time when Tony had gotten the plague and the whole team had gone to the showers and stripped en masse, the others had all averted their eyes politely and allowed Kate to take cover in the showers before they turned around but chivalry only had so much endurance in a life-and-death situation and Kate was fairly sure that they would have seen more than she was entirely comfortable with. To be honest, in the bathroom, Gibbs had turned around and covered his eyes as soon as he realised his mistake, and Kate trusted him not to have taken any sneaky glances. It was more that it happened in the first place, the awkwardness of it all, and the fact that Gibbs' photographic memory now included the image of her, freshly clean and dripping wet, standing in the shower. After their first meeting, on Air Force One, Kate had put everything she had into undoing that first impression – the one established when she, in one breathe, had informed a roomful of strangers that she wasn't a virgin and she was sleeping with her colleague. Gibbs had offered her the job anyway, and she tried so hard to not be just a pretty face, not be some bimbo agent who got by on sub-standard work and good looks, trying to make her own way in a male-dominated industry and not revert to the tried and tested method of pouting and wearing push-up bras. Gibbs had always treated her like she was an agent first and foremost and a woman second, and that was important to Kate. But you couldn't look at someone, skin pink from the heat of the shower and body slick with water, and not lose a little bit of respect for them, not look at them a little bit more sexually than you did when they were safely clad in their sensible office skirts and sweaters. Gibbs wouldn't treat her differently, but he might think of her differently, and he might look at her a little less like an equal and a little more like a piece of meat, and Kate wasn't sure she could take that. Not from Gibbs.

And she definitely couldn't take it if Tony was going to laugh about it.

An elderly couple meandered past, hand in hand, and Kate was reminded of the day Tony first kissed her. It was here, by this river. He was being stupid, pretending to be a duck, and screwing around with the camera. Then he'd pushed her against these same railings, cold and hard, and kissed her. How long ago had that been? Kate had lost track. She wasn't even entirely sure how long they'd been in Paris for – sometimes it seemed like a week, sometimes it seemed like life in DC was a long-ago memory from another lifetime.

Kate sighed, scraping her fingernails along the glistening black paint of the railing. It made her spine shudder, like chalk on a blackboard, and it made her fingers tingle. She needed a manicure. Her nails were uneven and the glossy, clear polish that adorned them was chipped. She needed a haircut too, she decided, pushing her fringe out of her eyes for the fifth time in as many minutes. The trouble was, she couldn't be bothered. She knew it sounded silly, but she couldn't. The idea of going to a salon and sitting around for hours on end while people fussed over her and she did absolutely nothing was not Kate's idea of an entertaining afternoon. Maybe she could get Jenny to go with her? That would be alright – decent conversation would make up for the sitting around.

"Mademoiselle!"

Kate looked up, jolted out of her thoughts by the sound of a voice a few feet from where she stood.

"Um, can I help you?" Kate asked the young man before her, who was smiling a very attractive smile at her.

"Jean?" he said, gesturing at himself. "From the coffee shop?"

"Oh!" Kate said, the memory flooding back. She remembered him – the guy who'd brought her all those cups of coffee, with the gorgeous smile and the nice butt. She'd been pissed with Tony then, too. "Um, Kate." She offered Jean her hand, smiling shyly as he grasped it gently and raised it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on the back of her knuckles instead of shaking it as she'd expected.

"What's it short for?" Jean asked, his deep brown eyes locked onto Kate's. "Katherine?"

"No." Kate wrinkled her nose. "Caitlin."

"It suits you," Jean murmured. "It's pretty."

"It's awful," Kate replied.

"I like it. Would you mind if I called you Caitlin, instead of Kate?"

Kate paused for a moment, looking him up and down. People didn't call her Caitlin – her grandma used to, but she was dead now. Her parents, when she was in trouble. Gibbs did, occasionally, as did the director, but they always added 'Agent' at the start and 'Todd' at the end, and only did it for formal introductions. Ducky, sometimes, but more often than not he still called her Kate. The only person who called her Caitlin with any kind of regularity, who always, without fail, used her given name, was Ari. And now Stefan.

"I'd rather you didn't," Kate said, lowering her eyes. "I don't like it."

"Well, then I won't," Jean smiled. "Kate."

Kate smiled back at him, turning back to look out over the river and sighing softly.

"So, Kate, how are you? What have you been up to in Paris?"

Kate gave a weak, ironic laugh. What was she supposed to say to that? 'Well, Jean, last time I saw you I was trying to figure out how I felt about not being pregnant by my colleague, who's supposed to be pretending to be my boyfriend but actually _is_, and since then I've hung out with a few terrorists, been rushed to hospital with appendicitis, and am now sharing the apartment with my boss and his ex-girlfriend, who in all likelihood, is his current girlfriend as well. Oh, and my boss? Walked in on me in the shower earlier on, and my boyfriend thinks it's funny, so now I'm too embarrassed to speak to my boss and too annoyed to speak to Tony, so I bitched to that woman I mentioned? The boss' possibly-not-ex? And then I came here, which, incidentally, is where my boyfriend and I had our first kiss. And I'm going to stay here until I have to go home for dinner with those terrorists I mentioned. How about you?' Yeah, right.

"You know, seeing the sights..." Kate replied vaguely. "What about you?"

"Working," Jean shrugged. "I'm trying to raise some money to go travelling."

"Oh? Where to?"

"South America," Jean said, his eyes lighting up and his face glowing with an enthusiasm that Kate couldn't help but revel in. "My grandfather was from there. I've always wanted to visit and see my heritage. There's trouble there, I'd like to help bring some peace to people's lives."

Kate smiled as Jean told her of his plans – how he worked in the coffee shop all hours, to get the money. How he'd been saving for two years and reckoned that, if he worked overtime, he would have enough money in another six months or so and would sell his apartment and head off with his backpack and not a lot else to see the world he came from. It was nice, Kate thought, to talk to someone whose dreams reached beyond promotion at work. She didn't have the heart to tell him that, from what she'd seen of the trouble in South America, it would take a whole lot more than one man with a backpack to bring peace. And hey, maybe she was wrong. Maybe spending her entire working life around guns and planes and navy warships had blinded her to any other way of handling things – maybe peace was best brought about with peaceful measures. Either way, she certainly wasn't going to shatter this boy's dreams.

A raindrop splashed down onto the river, sending a tiny ripple across the murky surface. Another one followed, and another, and then one landed on Kate's head.

"I guess we should..." Kate trailed off. She didn't really want to leave – she liked Jean. He was friendly and interesting, and very, very hot. He made Kate's stomach feel flippy in a way it hadn't felt for a long time, and he made her feel shy. It was nice – she didn't feel shy with Tony. Exactly the opposite, in fact. And yeah, Kate knew it was slightly ridiculous that she had a crush on this guy, but what the hell. She was allowed – it wasn't like she was going to do anything about it. She probably wouldn't even see him ever again.

"Do you live far?" Jean asked, drawing his jacket tighter around himself as the rain began to fall steady and strong.

"Yeah," Kate sighed, tucking her hands in her pockets. "I should get going before I get soaked."

"Let me call you a cab," Jean said, resting his hand on Kate's arm. "I live a couple of streets away, you can wait there."

Kate sighed. Stranger Danger, and all that. Sure, Jean seemed harmless enough, but so would Stefan if you came across him in the street. And whether he was trustworthy or not, Gibbs would go off his head if he found out she'd gone back to some random man's house to wait for a cab. But... the rain was getting heavier by the moment, and Kate reckoned she was fairly capable of defending herself against Jean. And, dammit, she _liked_ him!

"Alright," Kate smiled, nodding in acceptance of his offer. "Thank you."

The two of them made their way down the river, then ducked into a road littered with cafes and restaurants. Kate followed Jean round a couple of corners, mentally noting the street names and any landmarks, just in case. Within five minutes, they reached an apartment building with a row of steps at the front of it and peeling paint on the shutters.

"After you, Mademoiselle," Jean said at the top of the steps, unlocking the door to the ground floor apartment and letting Kate inside.

"Thank you," Kate murmured, stepping inside out of the rain and peeling her wet layers off. She looked around, hovering awkwardly by the sofa while Jean switched on a small electric heater. It was a small apartment – positively minuscule compared to the one she and Tony had been given by NCIS. It was little shabby - Jean evidently put every spare penny into his fund to head to South America. It was a nice place, though. Tidy, and well-kept and clean.

"Please," Jean said, gesturing at a worn but comfortable-looking sofa, "Sit down. I'll call a taxi for you."

Kat sat down, fiddling with the chain around her neck, and glancing around. Jean retrieved the phone from its place on a small coffee table, and dialled a number. He spoke in French, and seemed to get fairly agitated. Kate would have been nervous, had she not picked up enough French by now to know that he was arguing about the time it would take for a taxi to arrive.

"Sorry," Jean apologised, hanging up the phone. "They're busy, because of the weather. A taxi won't be here for another hour and a half."

An hour and a half. Kate glanced at her watch. An hour and half to get here, another half an hour to get back to the apartment, if the traffic was really that bad. Leaving her with what, maybe forty-five minutes to get ready for dinner? Less than that, if Stefan was early. Cutting it very, very close. Closer than Gibbs would appreciate – closer than Kate herself could justify, honestly.

"Don't worry about it," Kate sighed. "I'll get my driver to come pick me up."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "You have a driver?"

Kate blushed. "Yeah," she admitted, rooting in her handbag for her cell phone to call him.

"You must be rich." Kate shrugged awkwardly, and Jean laughed. "Don't worry," he grinned. "I won't kidnap you and hold you to ransom."

Kate giggled. "That's good to know," she smiled.

--

Jean was gorgeous. There was no other word for it. And, as he and Kate lounged side by side on his sofa chatting and laughing and messing about, Kate was painfully aware of the fact that she was being kind of irresponsible. She shouldn't be here. There was a list of reasons as long as her arm, as to why exactly she shouldn't be here, and if she'd care to stop and think about it she could probably find a few dozen more. For a start, this guy liked her. She wasn't great at reading men, but Jean... he was too inexperienced to hide the signs, and Kate's ingrained profiler could tell that he had a thing for her. It wasn't fair to come to his house, to flirt with him – and yes, she was flirting, even though she wasn't meaning to – when he didn't know she was spoken for. Not to mention the fact that Kate liked him, too. Liked him a lot. He was kind, and he was friendly and polite and he didn't piss her off for sport. And he was _gorgeous_. Kate had to admit it, if Jean hadn't looked like he did, it wouldn't matter how friendly or polite he seemed – she wouldn't have come home with him. She simply would not have trusted him enough, because he was a stranger, and coming home with him was a Stupid Idea. But the fact that he had hair that was just silky enough, without looking over-groomed, and that deep, beautifully romantic, slightly hissy accent, and eyes that seemed to hold everything sweet in their hazel depths, made Kate ignore any feelings of mistrust and follow a stranger to a place she didn't know, when she was in the middle of a terrorist investigation in a foreign country. But even now, sitting on his sofa and very occasionally letting her hand just... brush... very softly, against his as they shared a bowl of potato chips, Kate didn't think he was going to do her any harm. Okay, so maybe nobody knew what the bad guys looked liked. But they certainly didn't look like Jean. Besides – nobody with eyes like that could harbour any thoughts that were anything but beautiful. Kate knew that Gibbs had told her eyes could lie, but... she'd have to be horribly unlucky to fall for the same trick twice. Or horribly stupid, but that was an altogether less pleasant thought, so she ignored it.

"You have..."

Kate looked up, and Jean grinned at her, which, for some inexplicable reason, made her blush.

"Just here..."

Kate held very, very still as Jean reached out a hand and extended one finger, gently placing it on her jawline. "Salsa," he murmured, and Kate darted her tongue out to lick her suddenly-dry lips. His finger felt almost electric against the vulnerable skin of her cheek, heat and energy pulsing through it until the surroundings melted away and all Kate was aware of was Jean's single, right, index finger resting lightly against her face, and his eyes, so deep and dark and wonderful, piercing into hers. Carefully, Kate tilted her head slightly and, deliberately letting her knuckles stroke against Jean's, wiped the tiny dab of salsa off her face. "It's gone," Jean confirmed drawing his hand away.

Kate smiled. If that had been Tony, he would have lunged at her and tried to lick it off himself. Well, no. That wasn't true. Or fair. Tony had been absolutely lovely, recently. But he probably would have tried to lick that salsa... He and Jean were similar, and yet so different. They didn't look alike, not really, though they both had grins that would melt hearts. They were both kind (from what Kate could tell of Jean, anyway) and gentle, yet Jean seemed to have more of an inherent gentlemanly side to him, whereas Tony's chivalry tended to emerge when it was either necessary or when he wanted something. And, of course, Jean was yet to make filthy observations, try to peer down her shirt, 'accidentally' touch her breasts, or spew innuendo at her just to see her sweat.

When the car arrived, far too soon for Kate's liking, Jean offered to walk her outside, but Kate declined. What was the point of him getting soaking wet for the sake of escorting her down some steps? She stood in his doorway, facing him, bracing herself for the dash to the vehicle.

"Rolls Royce?" Jean commented, and Kate nodded. "Wow. You must be _very_ rich." Kate smiled uncomfortably. "You don't act rich," Jean whispered, and Kate met his eyes – oh, those eyes – shyly.

"No?" she said.

"No. You act nice."

Kate smiled broadly. "So do you."

"You'd better get going," Jean sighed, looking at the driver who was standing in the rain, waiting. "Or I might have to rethink my promise not to kidnap you."

"Yeah," Kate sighed, feeling a stab of guilt over the poor man, standing waiting to open the car door for her. "Anyway... thanks. For letting me shelter in your apartment, and everything."

"You're welcome. You could maybe come back another time? If you'd like to, that is. You don't have to -"

"No," Kate interrupted quickly, feeling her cheeks redden as she glanced down at the floor shyly and toed the ground. "I'd like to."

Jean looked at her for a moment. Kate knew she should go, take a step back and head down the steps and get in the car, but his eyes were so entrancing... the way he looked at her like that, with those eyes boring straight into hers... she knew he was about to kiss her, she could tell from the way he was leaning in towards her. She knew, but she didn't move. She didn't actually lean forwards to him, but she didn't do anything to stop him. And, when his lips met hers – rougher than Tony's, drier, but an entirely different shape and fit and so, so good – she shut her eyes and tilted her neck and she let him kiss her.

Kate didn't know how long the kiss lasted, but when Jean pulled away, they were both a little out of breath. He smiled at her, and stepped a little closer, reaching around behind to rest a hand on her butt and lower his face to hers for another kiss.

"Um," Kate said, taking a very small, yet very significant, step back and raising her hand between their chests. Why, _why_, did she not do this a minute ago? "Jean... I have a boyfriend," she whispered.

Jean's face fell, and colour rose in his cheeks as he too took a step back. "I'm sorry," he apologised. He looked afraid, actually, and Kate felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. Poor guy – it wasn't his fault. "I didn't know, I... if I had, I wouldn't have..."

"It's okay," Kate said, wanting to touch his shoulder but fairly certain that wasn't a good idea. Instead, she pushed her hands firmly inside her pockets and looked at the ground. "It's my fault, I... I'm really sorry, Jean."

"No, it's... don't worry..."

"Look, I should go. See you around?"

Jean nodded. "I'd like that," he said with a small smile, and Kate nodded before turning on her heel and racing down the steps through the rain and getting into the waiting car.

Kate was silent almost the whole journey home. She shouldn't have done that. She shouldn't have got talking to Jean by the river, and she shouldn't have gone home with him. She shouldn't have flirted with him or hung out with him, or not told him she was unavailable, and she especially, _especially_ shouldn't have kissed him. It would be bad enough if something like that had happened at home. Here, it was even worse. Here, when people found out... Tony would hate her, and that would mess up not only their relationship but their case as well. Gibbs would be furious. The Director, too. And Stefan... if Stefan found out, it could jeopardise the entire mission. It could put people's _lives_ at risk.

Not to mention the fact that Tony would be hurt. The last thing Kate wanted to do was hurt him. She'd just been so caught up in the moment, entranced by the attraction. And flattered, too, that such a young, handsome guy would take an interest in her. It hadn't been fair, when she'd been making those comparisons to Tony. It was nice, yes, hanging out with Jean. He was good company, and there had definitely been distinct chemistry between the two of them, but... with Tony, she had _fun_. Not that she hadn't had fun with Jean, but it was a different kind of fun. With Tony it was so easy, it came so naturally... they teased one another, and laughed at one another, and she felt safe with him. With Jean, there had been danger bells going off in her mind from the moment she followed him home. She'd ignored them, pushed them away, but they'd been there. Kate liked him, yes. Thought he was hot, absolutely. Had the situation been different, had they met in a bar, if Kate were single and not working, she'd have danced with him and drunk with him and probably gone on a date with him. But things weren't different. And Kate had never intended to act on a stupid little crush. That didn't change anything, though. That didn't make him trustworthy. And Tony was still going to hate her when he found out.

She slumped back in her seat, crying quietly, and watched the rain pour down the windows.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: Hi everyone. Thank you so so much for the reviews of that last chapter, they were really great :) This took a little longer than expected because I had no time and I kept changing things, so sorry about that... And I don't know if it's just me or if these chapters are getting shorter, but I think the next one will be long again. Hope you like it!_

* * *

Kate pushed the front door of the apartment open, slipping inside and taking her wet coat and shoes off. She headed to the kitchen, stopping as she passed Tony. He was on his knees, a toolbox open beside him, and was draped around the bathroom door with a screwdriver between his teeth and a couple of nails in his hand.

"What are you doing?" Kate asked.

Tony jumped, dropping the nails on the floor. Kate caught one beneath her foot, picking it up and passing it back to Tony, who dropped the screwdriver from between his teeth and smiled. "Thanks," he said, taking the nail. "I'm fixing the lock, what does it look like?"

"Did Gibbs tell you to?"

"No, you did, remember?" Kate sat down on the floor beside Tony, picking up a spare screwdriver and twirling it in her fingers. "Have you been crying?" Tony asked, looking carefully at Kate's red eyes and damp cheeks.

"No," Kate answered, but her voice cracked and she had to look at the floor so that Tony wouldn't see her eyes fill with tears again.

"Hey," Tony said, dropping his tools and wrapping his arms around Kate's shoulders, pulling her close to his chest in a hug. "Don't be sad. Where've you been, anyway?" Kate pulled away, squirming out of Tony's grasp as he tried to comfort her. "Gibbs is getting pissed off with you," Tony said, looking a little confused, taking up his tools again. "He was shouting at Jenny earlier for letting you go out – you might want to tell him you're back." Kate got to her feet, taking a shuddery breath as she tried to regain her composure, and Tony paused. "Do you want me to come with you?" he offered.

"No," Kate sighed, running a hand through her hair and making her way to the kitchen. "Thank you."

"Good luck!" Tony called after her, and she managed a faint smile before she had to look away and fight back another onslaught of tears.

Kate stepped into the kitchen, trailing inside and hovering by the doorway. Tony was right – Gibbs was pissed. He had his back to the door, but even from behind, Kate could see the tension radiating from every jagged angle of his body – from the clenched fists to the sturdy shoulders.

"Gibbs," Kate said, and he turned to look at her.

"Jethro..." Jenny warned from her seat at the table, and Kate thanked her lucky stars that this woman (the only woman – the only _person_, other than Ducky – that Kate had ever come across who seemed to have a kind of control over Gibbs' actions) was on her side. For now, at least.

Gibbs took a step forwards, and Kate lowered her eyes, steeling herself against an angry tirade. She was surprised when Gibbs wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, though she didn't flinch, and even more surprised when he placed a hand gently underneath her chin and raised it to look at him.

"You been crying?" he asked gruffly, and Kate immediately averted her eyes. He could still see her face, tilted as it was to him, but while he could see the smudged eyeliner and the damp cheeks, he couldn't see the new surge of tears threatening to spill over.

"No," Kate lied, and found herself gasping in surprise when Gibbs spun her around, still gripping her upper arm firmly, and pushed her sharply toward the kitchen door.

"Jethro!" Jenny called sharply, but Gibbs ignored her.

Kate stumbled slightly as Gibbs marched her out of the kitchen and down the hallway, but his strong grasp on her arm hauled her upright in an instant. Tony looked up in shock as Gibbs stepped over him and his toolbox, looming in the threshold of the bathroom.

"This fixed?" he barked, and Tony nodded.

"Yes, Boss – Kate, are you – Gibbs?!" Tony sat on the floor, looking bemused and worried, as Gibbs pushed Kate inside and slammed the door in Tony's face. Tony scrambled to his feet, pushing the toolbox out of the way, and looked around. Jenny was standing against the wall, arms folded and a small frown on her face. "Are they... is Kate okay in there, with him?" Tony asked. He had never known Gibbs to get violent with Kate – hell, he didn't even smack her on the head, though she deserved it as often as he or McGee did (well, maybe not, but she deserved it _sometimes_) – but he'd looked pretty mad, and he had locked the bathroom door... Tony pressed his ear against the door to listen, but no sooner did the side of his head touch the wood, the door shook as Gibbs' hand slammed into the exact spot Tony's ear was resting on, and his angry tone echoed from behind the door.

"DiNozzo! This is a private conversation! Go and change for dinner!"

"Sorry Boss," Tony muttered, scrambling back from the door and retreating into his bedroom, casting a final worried glance at Jenny.

In the bathroom, Kate rubbed her arm where Gibbs' fingers had clutched her, and shot him a wounded look. He hadn't hurt her at all, but he hadn't exactly been gentle either, and she was making the point.

"Something you want to tell me?" Gibbs demanded, after thumping the door and scaring Tony away.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Kate nodded, trying to avoid looking at Gibbs, but something about him was hypnotic. She desperately wanted to look at him, to try to gage his reaction, but she forced herself to look at the floor.

"Stefan will be on his way here soon," Gibbs pointed out, but his voice had taken on an entirely softer tone – as gentle as any Kate had heard him use with Abby.

"I know," Kate replied quietly, her voice tight as she struggled to keep it steady.

"If you're not up to this tonight you need to tell me."

"I am," Kate insisted. "I'm fine."

"Yeah? Well you _look_ like you've been crying."

Kate swallowed and met Gibbs eyes briefly, her wet gaze fixing with Gibbs' piercing blue one, and she managed a watery smile before the sides of her mouth tugged down again and she looked away.

"Well, that was convincing."

"No, I just... I need to talk to Tony," Kate admitted in a quiet voice.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, and his body language adopted that same angry stance he'd had when Kate had seen him in the kitchen.

"I'll talk to him," Gibbs growled, and Kate shot her hand out and caught Gibbs' arm.

"No," she protested. "He didn't do anything wrong, I just need to talk to him. It's not his fault."

Gibbs paused. "Honestly?"

"Yes."

Kate hung her head again, feeling the tears burning in her eyes but determined not to let them out. There was a long, long pause while Gibbs looked at her, weighing up his options. Kate daren't look up in case she cried all over Gibbs and, though she was willing him to go away so she could give in to the tears in private, she still didn't want to be alone. She held still, very still, lest the slightest movement dislodged the tears. She bit her lip as one stray tear trickled down her cheek, and squeezed her closed to stop any more flowing. Another one slid down her nose, followed by another, and she had no idea what Gibbs was doing because she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She waited, her head bowed and her eyes closed, and counted nine tears run down her face before she felt Gibbs hand gently touch her shoulder, somewhat awkwardly but still soft and comforting, and then she heard the door open and click closed again. When she looked up, Gibbs had gone and she was alone in the bathroom.

Kate took one long, deep breath, before moving into action. She turned the shower on full blast, letting the pounding water glug down the plughole loudly, then locked the door behind Gibbs and, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, content that nobody would be able to hear her or come inside, let herself cry. Not for long, though. A minute or two later, Kate took a deep breath, got to her feet, and turned off the shower. She wiped the remains of her makeup off her cheeks and eyes, washed her face with cold water and slipped out of the bathroom and into her and Tony's bedroom.

--

"What's wrong with Kate?"

Tony's voice, unexpected and frightened, made Gibbs stop in his tracks on his way from the bathroom to the bedroom.

"Talk to her about it," Gibbs replied.

"But she's locked herself in the bathroom," Tony said, and Gibbs turned to look at him. His face was twisted into a nervous expression of worry, and his hair was standing on end where he'd run his hands through it so many times. Standing in his suave having-dinner-with-terrorists suit, with his hair mussed and his face contorted with anxiety, he looked like a little boy lost in a man's world, and just about as wretched as Gibbs thought he could look without actually contracting the plague. "You spoke to her already. What's wrong with her?"

"That's none of your business, DiNozzo." Okay, so that wasn't strictly true. But it was better than admitting that he didn't know.

"It is, Boss, I lo- that is, we're – it just is!" Tony protested, and Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Ask her, then."

Gibbs pushed his way into the bedroom, ignoring Jenny, who was still standing exactly where she had been when he went into the bathroom with Kate. She touched Tony on the arm, straightening his tie slightly, and sighed. "If you needed to know," she murmured, "he'd have told you."

"Unless she wouldn't tell him," Tony pointed out.

"Then she'll probably tell you. You'll just have to trust her."

"I do," Tony nodded. "I do, but..."

There was a thud from Gibbs' room, and Jenny rolled her eyes. "Excuse me," she sighed with a slight smile, before following Gibbs into the bedroom. "Please tell me that noise was not you thinking that you could take your anger out on the wall?"

"No," Gibbs growled in reply, then looked a little sheepish. "I took it out on the chest of drawers."

Jenny glanced at the chest of drawers to the left of Gibbs, now decorated with a dusty print from a shoe where Gibbs had evidently kicked them. "Kate wouldn't tell you what was wrong?" Jenny guessed, retrieving her clothes from the closet and changing.

"No," Gibbs muttered, rubbing his temples. "Just said she wanted to speak to DiNozzo."

"I'll speak to her," Jenny offered.

"She's my agent," Gibbs growled defensively, and Jenny paused in the buttoning of her blouse and looked up at Gibbs. He glared at her for a moment, before she returned to her buttons.

"You're the one who wanted me on this case, Jethro," Jenny pointed out, her tone crisp and strict. Gibbs could see why they kept promoting her – she had authority. "I didn't come back to play housewife for you – I'm a part of this team, now, too."

Gibbs surveyed his partner for a moment. Jenny was standing her ground in front of him, one eyebrow arched and a threatening look on her face. The challenge hung between them, fizzing with tension, and Gibbs narrowed his eyes. Kate did this to him, at home. At the office or out on a case – she'd give him that infuriating look that made him want to slap her and give her what she wanted both at once. Of course, he couldn't very well hit a woman, so mostly he gave in, and told himself that it wasn't a sign of weakness, it was just him making things easier for himself by appeasing his female agent. When he didn't give in, he could keep a lid – to an extent, at least – on the angry looks and snarky comments by playing the Boss card and reminding Kate (and himself) that what he said, went. With Jenny, however, he may be team leader, but that wouldn't cut it and he knew it.

"Fine," Gibbs conceded with a curt nod. "Talk to her after Stefan and his family goes."

--

As Jenny left to see to Gibbs, Tony took up her place against the wall and watched the bathroom door, waiting for Kate to emerge. He didn't have long to wait – Kate pushed the door open within minutes, and slunk past Tony into the bedroom without acknowledging Tony's presence. Sighing at the obvious avoidance tactics, Tony took a moment or two to gather his thoughts before following Kate into the bedroom. He went straight in, pushing the door open without knocking, and was greeted by a shocked gasp as Kate turned quickly away from the mirror and tried to pull her shirt, which was dangling loose in her right hand, over herself.

"It's only me," Tony said, and Kate visibly relaxed.

Tony lolled on the bed, watching with quiet concern as Kate changed. He noted the glittering of unshed tears in her eyes, and the way she wouldn't look him straight in the eye, even when he spoke to her. She didn't reply properly, either, mumbling answers to his questions in responses more fitting to an awkward teenage boy – a shrug here, and murmur here, no real words or clear answers to anything. Tony saw, too, that she still wouldn't look in the mirror until her top half was covered, and that she deliberately angled herself so he saw her only in profile and only from the left. She was doing it on purpose, he knew that. He knew, because he'd seen the mottled bruising around the area where her stitches had been and he'd seen the way she looked at the scar on her abdomen, when the dressings were off and the stitches out. It would fade, the doctor had told them, to a white line. But for now, it was angry and pink and raised against Kate's pale stomach. She thought Tony didn't know how much she hated it, but he wasn't stupid. He'd noticed that she insisted on having sex in the dark and that she kept her shirt on as much as possible. It didn't exactly take a genius.

"Katie?" Tony said softly, once Kate had gotten dressed – and, if she was wearing slightly too much eye makeup in an attempt to hide the evidence of her tears, and if her fringe was brushed into her eyes on purpose to conceal their puffy redness, Tony certainly wasn't going to say anything.

"That's not my name," Kate snapped, glaring at Tony, and Tony blinked. O-kay... just recently, he'd developed a habit of calling her Katie, sometimes, a sort of pet name, and she never complained. It actually made her smile, normally.

"Sorry," Tony muttered, slightly wounded at Kate's harsh tone. "_Caitlin_, then." It was pedantic, he knew, but he couldn't help it.

Kate closed her eyes and bit her lip to stop herself throwing something heavy at Tony's head. It wasn't his fault. But Jean's words were echoing around her head – _would you mind if I called you Caitlin...?_ – and it was all she could do not to smash something against Tony's face.

Instead, she made do with muttering a string of foul language under her breath and storming into the kitchen, Tony hot on her heels. Jenny, seated at the table with Gibbs and casting a wary eye over the two of them, was on the verge of moving the knives out of Kate's reach when crisis – at least, crisis in the shape of domestic homicide – was averted by a knock on the front door. There was no time for anything but a muttered warning from Gibbs about playing nicely for the terrorists, as they all fought to regain their composure and present a happy front as they headed to the living room.

The evening was long and painful. Stefan was as cheerful and bright as ever, and came bearing photos of his granddaughter, which he eagerly passed around for everybody to coo over. Tony introduced Gibbs and Jenny as Kate's aunt and uncle, and Stefan seemed as delighted to meet them as he was over pretty much everything else. Kate tried to avoid physical contact with Tony as much as she could, subtly edging herself away from him whenever possible, until Stefan teased her about being shy in front of her family and Gibbs nudged his knee against hers under the table in an unspoken warning to be a little more affectionate. What with Stefan's constant chatter and her status as a woman, Kate found that she barely needed to look up, let alone speak and engage herself in pleasant conversation. She'd never been more willing to do so, and while she normally sat through this kind of meeting with Stefan with a furious resentment bubbling inside her chest, tonight she was grateful for the fact that she need do little more than hold Tony's hand and sit prettily. She didn't even need to make polite chatter with Sophia – Jenny kept that up, and although Gibbs shot her a couple of pointed looks over her silence, Kate ignored him and let the conversation wash over her. By the time Stefan, Gerard and Sophia finally left, some point around eleven, Kate was just about ready to fall asleep right where she was on Tony's shoulder. She didn't get the opportunity, however, because Tony took her arm and, in a gesture that looked like he was linking her arm whereas in reality he was dragging her across the room, forced her to the door by his side so she could smile graciously and bid them goodnight.

"Right," Gibbs mumbled, after a pointed stare from Jenny reminded him of his earlier promise. "DiNozzo." He jerked his head towards the kitchen, a clear instruction for him to slip away from Kate and leave her and Jenny alone. Tony obeyed, following Gibbs out of the living room and leaning against the counter in the kitchen.

"Do you want a drink?" Jenny offered, when the kitchen door had clicked shut and both men were out of the way.

Kate glanced at the coffee table, harbouring the three – now empty – bottles of red wine they'd gotten through as the evening progressed, and tried to remember how many glasses she'd had. Enough to neither remember nor care, apparently. She shrugged at Jenny. "Sure," she said. "Why not?"

Jenny smiled, going to the intricately carved and obviously expensive liquor cabinet at the other side of the living room while Kate settled herself back on the sofa. Jenny returned to her side, clutching two shot glasses and a bottle of vodka. Kate arched an eyebrow – she'd been expecting more wine.

"You drink vodka?" Jenny checked, joining Kate on the sofa and unscrewing the cap on the bottle. Gibbs would probably accuse her of unfair play – after all, he could hardly ply Kate with alcohol to get her to spill her secrets without being accused of inappropriate behaviour– but truly, Jenny wasn't trying to get Kate drunk. She was just being polite, and giving them both something to do with their hands while they picked their way through a potentially awkward conversation. And, truth be told, Kate looked like she needed a drink.

"After a day like today," Kate confessed, "I'd drink anything."

"I know that feeling all too well," Jenny admitted, passing Kate a shot and clinking her own glass against it. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Kate replied, swallowing the vodka and grimacing slightly as it burned her throat on the way down.

"Rough day, then," Jenny remarked softly, and Kate gave an ironic smile.

"Understatement of the century," she observed, twirling her empty shot glass in her hands and sighing. "You ever have days when everything goes wrong, and you handle it horribly?"

"And looking back you'd do everything differently," Jenny agreed, "but at the time you aren't thinking straight?"

Kate grinned. "Thank God it's not just me," she said.

"Whatever it is, Kate" Jenny murmured, reaching for the bottle of vodka again and pouring two more shots out, "I'm sure it's not the end of the world."

Kate just shrugged.

Later, in the early hours of the morning, as Kate lay beside Tony in bed, she thought back on the conversation with Jenny. They'd chatted, bonded over vodka and leftover cheesecake (an interesting combination, but not one Kate intended on experiencing again) and thrown some serious observations in among their light-hearted giggling. Gibbs and Tony had rejoined them, and the conversation had turned to work, and the inevitable discussion on what could draw four such different people to such an unpleasant line of work as theirs. Kate had shrugged, and told Jenny the same story she'd told to Abby way back at the beginning of her NCIS career – she wanted to be a lawyer, found it too boring (much to her parent's chagrin) and entered this field instead. Tony muttered his way through an explanation and a few half-hearted jokes of how his parents didn't want him to really do anything but go away, and he wound up becoming a cop. Gibbs, of course, sat in silence and treated the group to his trademark glare when they asked him about his career choices. Tony had lightened the atmosphere with the suggestion that they play drinking games, and it was hard to tell who was more surprised when, in response to the inevitable 'have you ever cheated?', which came around seven questions in to their game of 'Have you ever?', Kate had closed her eyes and thrown back a shot while Tony's glass sat untouched on the table.

"Tony?" Kate murmured, turning her head to the side and looking at him.

"Hmm?" came the sleepy response.

"Have you really never cheated?"

"Yeah."

Kate frowned, pursing her lips as her alcohol-addled brain tried to work it out. "Yeah, really? Or yeah, you've cheated?"

"Yeah, really," Tony yawned. "I've never."

"But... you're _Tony_."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah. And you're drunk. Go to sleep, Kate."

"I'm not drunk."

Kate sighed, staring at the ceiling. She'd assumed that Tony, Playboy In Chief of the NCIS squadroom, had, at some point in his dating life, had multiple girlfriends. He certainly gave the impression that he wasn't a huge fan of monogamy. She'd been counting on it. Okay, so she shouldn't have kissed Jean, but it wasn't like Tony had never done the same thing. That had been her justification, and the main reason she was still hanging tightly onto her conviction to tell Tony the truth first chance she got. He'd be angry at first, but eventually he'd understand, because he'd done the same thing. Only, apparently he hadn't.

"Tony?"

Tony groaned, pulling the duvet over his head and growling. "What do you want?" he moaned.

"How come you've never cheated?"

Tony muttered something angry under his breath that Kate couldn't quite make out, and sat up. "Because it's horrible," Tony sighed. "Why is it a big deal?"

"Because!" Kate protested. "I'm surprised."

"I'm nice to my girlfriends," Tony frowned, wounded. "I'm nice to you, aren't I? I might not be the best at sticking with a relationship, but I always break up with the girls before I move onto the next one. Sometimes the _girl_ might not necessarily be single, butI always am. I'm not a sleaze."

Kate raised an eyebrow.

"Not a _complete_ sleaze," Tony corrected. "Anyway, you're the one who's cheated. Who was it?"

"Shut up, DiNozzo," Kate muttered, lying down as if to go to sleep. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Hey," Tony said, sliding down so he was lying parallel to Kate again, before resting his hand on her waist. "Don't be like that. I'm sure whoever it was, he deserved it."

"He didn't."

Tony grinned.

"Why are you smiling?" Kate asked, grumpily. "What, Tony? Why are you looking at me like that?" Tony beamed, looking extremely pleased with himself, and Kate couldn't help but crack a smile back as he smirked at her. "_What_?" she protested, trying not to giggle.

"I'm just smiling," Tony replied, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"You're not," Kate accused. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just trying to cheer you up. Smiling's contagious, you know."

"Yeah," Kate said. "So's Chlamydia."

"Which I don't have."

"Well, I'm glad," Kate grinned.

Tony leaned in for a kiss, and Kate was just snuggling close to him when she realised that the last time she'd kissed someone, it hadn't been Tony. She'd known it was wrong, and she'd done it anyway, even while her rational side screamed at her that it was a bad idea. She'd brushed her teeth since, washed and changed, and rinsed any trace of Jean from her body, but she still wondered – would she feel different? Smell different, taste different? Would Tony be able to tell?

Just as Tony's lips brushed hers, Kate pulled away.

"G'night, Tony," she mumbled, wriggling away from his warm body and rolling onto her side so she was facing away from him. She curled up tightly in a ball, closing her eyes and pretending to sleep.

She stayed like that, curled up in ball at the other side of the bed, for at least an hour. She could feel Tony watching her, his eyes boring into her back while he tried to work out what he'd done and what was wrong. He stopped eventually – Kate felt the mattress shift as he got comfortable – but Kate could hear him sighing occasionally and feel him fidgeting, so she knew he wasn't sleeping. She intended to stay awake all night and come up with a plan for dealing with the Jean situation, but although action plans and potential consequences buzzed around her head, she fell asleep none the wiser as to what she was going to do.

--

With the morning sun shining through the window, Gibbs looked up from coming his hair, pausing mid-stroke, and turned to the door. From the sound of Kate's outraged cry of 'DiNozzo!' and Jenny's equally horrified shriek of 'Jethro!', he guessed that they were both in trouble. Either that, or Jenny was trying to get him onside to deal with Tony... unlikely, seeing as both women were more than capable of handling DiNozzo by themselves. Before he could judge whether jumping out of the window would get him killed or just seriously injured, the bedroom door flung open and Jenny appeared.

"Something I can help you with?" Gibbs asked, dropping his comb on the dresser and giving Jenny his best 'why are you bothering me?' stare.

"Jethro... we need to talk."

"Go on, then."

Jenny raised an eyebrow at Gibbs response, then pushed the door shut and turned back to Gibbs. "I think we have a problem."

"Think?"

"Listen. Last night... Tony heard us."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's in the kitchen making disgusting innuendos about it!" Jenny exclaimed.

"He's just guessing," Gibbs chuckled.

"Well, even if he is, it's making me uncomfortable! I think we should give it a rest."

"Give what a rest?"

"You know what, Jethro," Jenny replied, trying not to smirk at Gibbs' feigned innocence.

"But I like sex."

"I like relationships! How are we supposed to have a relationship if it's getting in the way of the job? And don't say it isn't, because if we can't walk into a room without your agent imagining us getting it on, then it's getting in the way of the job."

"I don't think he imagines us both, Jen."

--

Tony sniggered as Jenny charged off in search of Gibbs.

"You're disgusting," Kate muttered, glaring at him.

Tony just grinned. Kate swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as she realised that, with Jenny and Gibbs out of the way, she had a perfect opportunity to talk to Tony. If she was going to tell him, she had to tell him right away, so he didn't think she was hiding it from him. Not to mention the fact that, the longer she put it off and thought it over, the more enticing it was just to pretend it hadn't happened and there was nothing to confess.

"Right," Tony said, checking out his reflection in the door of the fridge and smoothing down his hair. "I'm going to have a shower." He turned, heading for the door. Kate hopped down from her seat on the counter and, taking a deep breath, called out,

"Tony?"

"Yeah?" Tony stopped, turning in the doorway to look at Kate.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure..."

Tony leaned against the doorframe to listen, watching as Kate pushed her hair behind her ears and approached him. He straightened as she slipped a fingernail into her mouth and raised her eyes to his. She was pale and deadly, deadly serious as she met his gaze, and when Tony put out a hand to reassure her, she stepped back and looked away, and started pacing. She wasn't saying anything, just walking up and down and biting her fingernails.

"Kate?" Tony prompted.

"Yesterday," Kate said quickly, glancing at Tony before turning away again and continuing to pace. "You asked me where I was."

"Yeah..."

"There was this guy."

Tony waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. Kate was just quiet. "A guy..." Tony pushed. "Did you know him?"

"No... well, a bit. I'd met him once before. He served me coffee the other week. I guess I know him now, I went to his house, but –"

"You went to his _house_?" Tony said. "Jeez, Kate!"

"I know," Kate muttered. "It was stupid."

"Well, do you think we should tell Gibbs? Did anything happen?"

"No! Don't tell Gibbs. Nothing happened. Well, something happened, but it – it was bad, but it's nothing to do with Gibbs, it... it just... I don't know, Tony, please don't tell Gibbs."

Tony frowned. Kate looked desperate. She was babbling, too, wringing her hands and not making any real sense. "Kate," he interrupted, reaching out as Kate's pacing took her past him. "Kate. Kate, come here, shush a second." Kate fell silent and allowed Tony to pull her over to him. "Kate," Tony said. "Calm down, okay?"

Kate nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Tony squeezed her hands as he saw her jaw set, leaning forward to kiss the top of her fringe.

"What happened yesterday?" Tony asked, releasing Kate's hands and stroking a strand of hair back from where it was stuck to her cheek from her tears. "With this guy?"

Kate took a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose herself before looking up and meeting Tony's gaze.

"I kissed him."

* * *

_A/N: I'm sorry! Please don't be mad. I really am going to update over the next few days. Before Wednesday, I swear. _


	21. Chapter 21

_Okay, so, it's Thursday not Wednesday, but I had literally no time to write anything until this evening. This is short, but hey, I only had an hour and a half to do it in so what do you expect?! ;-) I was in a rush to update, so it's only just been written, so please excuse any silly typos. I did check it over, but it's easy to miss them. Anyway, hope you like it!_

* * *

He didn't mean to hit her. Really, he didn't. But before he'd even realised he'd drawn back his hand, her face was turned away from him and he was staring at his palm, hot and tingling from the force of the strike. Kate's head had snapped sideways as he slapped her, and her hair was hanging in front of her face like a curtain, so Tony couldn't see how much damage he'd done for a long, long moment. Kate's breathing was deep and heavy and gasping, and when she finally looked up, Tony's breath caught in his throat. There was a bright red mark on her left cheek, a stark contrast to the deathly white of the rest of her face. Her bottom lip was ripped open where she'd bitten it, the bloody spot garishly livid, partnered by a single droplet of deep red blood spilling over and rolling down Kate's chin. That wasn't the worst thing, though. The worst thing was that, as Kate raised a trembling hand to her mouth to wipe away the trail of blood, Tony put his hand out to help her and she flinched away. She flinched away from his hand, and then, with her eyes wide with fear and her fingers and tongue gently working against the side of her already-swollen mouth to assess the damage, she stepped backwards and away from Tony.

"Kate –" Tony began, but Kate narrowed her eyes at him and shielded the wounded side of her face with her hand.

"Don't touch me," she hissed.

"I didn't mean to hit you," Tony protested weakly.

"You don't hit people by accident," Kate spat, her dark, furious eyes glaring at Tony as she wiped a blood droplet from the corner of her mouth and winced.

"Oh, but kissing them's another matter," Tony shot back, his voice dripping with hurt and sarcasm.

"You're a bastard, DiNozzo," Kate muttered, pushing past him and out of the kitchen, colliding into Gibbs' chest in the doorway.

"I'm hurt, Kate," Gibbs teased, oblivious to the previous conversation he'd just missed. "I thought I was your only bastard."

Kate fixed Gibbs with her most scathing look – normally reserved only for the likes of Tony, her older brothers, and the obnoxious man who worked in the newsagent at home and always addressed her as 'Little Lady' – and tried to push him out of her way.

"What happened to your face?" Gibbs asked, visibly horrified, as Kate glared at him.

"Nothing," Kate growled. "Get out of my way."

"You want ice for that," Gibbs pointed out, deliberately blocking Kate's route.

"No," Kate corrected, "I _want_ you to get out of my way."

"Kate -"

"Move, Gibbs!" Kate's voice cracked as she spoke, her tone increasing in pitch as she tried to force her way past Gibbs. She may be strong, but she was small, and when it came down to it, mass was mass and if a great big former marine like Gibbs wanted to stop her getting through a doorway, he could. He didn't, though. Maybe he'd decided he wanted to talk to Tony alone, or maybe he took pity on her, or maybe he just thought it was in his best interests not to stop her, but he stepped to the side and let Kate through.

"You hit her?" Gibbs asked, raising an eyebrow at Tony as the bedroom door closed behind Kate.

"Yeah," Tony muttered.

"You planning on giving me an explanation?"

Tony shrugged dejectedly. "Is there one?"

"There's no excuse," Gibbs growled. "But there had better be an explanation."

"I was angry," Tony mumbled, examining his hand. There was a tiny spot of blood from Kate's lip, already dry, stained red on his thumb. "I didn't even... can I go to her?"

Gibbs nodded, once. "I'm still expecting an explanation," he warned, as Tony took off after Kate.

--

Kate lay face-down on her and Tony's bed, clutching the duvet tightly in her hands. She'd expected Tony to be angry – she'd been prepared for yelling, and throwing things, and him storming out and declaring that he never wanted to see her again. She hadn't expected him to hit her. He hadn't meant to. She did know that, despite what she'd told him about not hitting people by accident. Tony would never willingly, knowingly, hit her – no matter what she'd done. It had been midway into McGee's second month as fully-participating member of their team when he'd gotten into the elevator with Kate and Tony and asked, hesitantly, why Kate was never the unlucky recipient of one of Gibbs' infamous headslaps. Kate had um-ed and ah-ed, trying to find a way to explain what she didn't quite know herself, and tried to articulate that though she knew without a doubt that Gibbs would never hit her, she couldn't explain why she knew that, or why he wouldn't. It had been Tony who had summed it up within a few words, looking at McGee as if he'd just asked if they were sure the world was round. _'You don't hit girls, McGee'_, Tony had said, deadly serious for a change, _'only cowards do that'_, and Kate had spent the rest of the week arguing with him about equality. Tony had made his opinion very clear – if equality meant hitting girls, then equality could take a running jump. Tony didn't have a lot of fervent beliefs, but, as Kate had learnt that week when he'd argued with her not to annoy her, but because he truly believed in his point, one of his firm policies was that, no matter what, you don't hit a girl.

That was why, even in the split second when Kate had seen Tony's raised hand and realised he was going to slap her, she'd known he didn't realise what he was doing. But, she wondered, was that worse? If he could get so out of control that he could hit her – and hit her hard – and not even know he was doing it, did she really want to be with him? Kate had expected to come out of the conversation with Tony wondering if he still wanted to be with her. What she hadn't expected, what hadn't even crossed her mind, was whether or not she'd come out wanting to be with _him_.

She could have barely been in the bedroom two minutes when a knock on the door startled her. Without a pause, the door was pushed open and Tony came in. Kate didn't look up, but she knew it was him from the scent. He didn't have the musky, sawdusty smell that still clung to Gibbs though he'd been away from his basement for some time now, and he certainly didn't smell of Jenny's expensive perfume.

Tony sat on the bed beside Kate, gently tracing the pattern on the duvet with his finger. He wished he could see her face, but it was hidden in the pillow, so instead, he focussed on her knuckles – white with the strength she was putting into clasping the blanket in her hands.

"I, uh," he began, clearing his throat before trying again. "I brought you some ice."

Kate paused. She didn't want to look at him and let him see quite how much he'd hurt her – physically or otherwise – but her face was still tingling from the force of Tony's hand, and she could still taste blood in her mouth against the hot, throbbing backdrop of her swollen lip. Ice sounded good. Slowly, she lifted her head and sat up, turning to face Tony. He winced as he saw her lip, guilt flooding his features.

"I'm sorry, Kate," he said, miserably, holding out a small cube of ice and pressing it softly against her lip. To his surprise, Kate didn't push his hand away, and let him tend to her cut himself. "Gibbs wants to know why I hit you," Tony murmured, as the ice melted over his fingers and he reached for a new cube.

"Do you want me to tell him?" Kate offered quietly.

"No," Tony said. "I'm going to say that we were having a fight." Kate looked up in surprise. "I don't want to get you in trouble," Tony mumbled. "And it's none of his business anyway."

Kate swallowed. "I'm really sorry, Tony," she whispered.

"C'mere," Tony croaked, discarding his bowl of ice and lying down on the bed, drawing Kate into his arms. She went willingly, surprised at how all her fear and anger and doubt had gone away now Tony was there. She looked up, horrified to see Tony's mouth contorting as he tried not to cry. His eyes were damp and his cheeks were red, but he was managing to hold back tears – just.

"What's wrong?" Kate gasped. "Are you upset because of me?"

"No," Tony said firmly. "No. I just... can I tell you something?"

"You can tell me anything," Kate promised.

Tony nodded. "I didn't mean to hit you," he whispered, "I really didn't."

"I know," Kate soothed, finding his hand with hers and squeezing it. "What do you want to tell me?"

Tony didn't reply for a long time, simply buried his face in Kate's hair and gently stroked his thumb over her cheek. Kate could hear him sniffling into her head, and every now and then his fingernail caught the cut on her lip and made it twinge, but she didn't say anything, she just lay still beside him.

"My mother," Tony muttered, finally. "My dad hit her. Not often, but sometimes. I don't ever want to be like him. I don't... I don't want you to be afraid of me, like she was of him."

"Hey," Kate said, reaching up and stroking Tony's face. "I'm not afraid of you. I could kick your butt any day – you just didn't give me fair warning." It was a lame attempt at a joke, it wasn't even funny, but it made Tony smile. Sort of. "And Tony?"

"Hmm?"

"I really am sorry about kissing that guy. I -"

"I don't want to know what happened," Tony interrupted. "I'm not mad at you, I just... please don't tell me what happened. Maybe someday. Not now."

Kate nodded. "I'll never do anything like that again," she said.

"I know," Tony assured her, stroking her hair. "Neither will I."

"Hit me?" Kate asked, with a grin. "Or kiss another guy?"

"Hit you. I promise."

"Me too."

Kate tilted her head up and kissed Tony, closing her eyes as his lips met hers and only breaking away when she absolutely had to.

"You're a better kisser than him, anyway," Kate declared, and Tony finally gave one of his typical, smug-ass smirks.

"I knew I was."


End file.
